Take Two
by padawanjinx
Summary: Everyone knows there are moments that take your breath away and moments you wish would freeze forever. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are no different. Sometimes, one has to Take Two. A collection of moments/stories that define the twins & their place in the
1. Disclaimers and Summary

**Disclaimers: I did own them for a second, but Starscream stole my proof so now I'm in negotiations. At least Wheeljack didn't blow it up…. Again.**

**Summary: These are going to be a collection of little one shot stories centered around our favorite Lambo Twins. There is no order, obviously. Look who we're dealing with. Different genres and ratings. I'm rating a "T" until something perverted comes to mind and I'll have to add it and change the settings. On the whole though, its going to be pretty family friendly. Its hard to put anything into stone when the twins are around. **

**Each of the stories will be titled after their names.**

**If you have any ideas, feel free to either leave a review (please, please) or send me an email via the site. I'm open to suggestions, though I already have a decent amount plotted for the future. **

**Updates will be sporadic, especially since I'm working on TWO epic fics that are going to be multi-chaptered and I may have to break one of them up into three separate fics. We'll see. Wish me luck!**

**Reviews are legal crack so feel free to feed the junkie. (gets Bluestreak to do the cute hurt turbo puppy look)**

**Hope you enjoy….**


	2. Swipe'd

**Swipe'd**

**Summary: ****Sideswipe has a really bad day.**

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

"**Sideswipe to Autobots?" the red Lamborghini called through a secured line. "Sideswipe to Sunstreaker? Optimus Prime? Prowl? Slag, I'd even settled for Gears at this point! Anyone reading me?"**

**Static met the front liners inquiry. He sighed, cringing at the abnormal groan from his chassis as he sank lower on his wheels. The battle had been over for nearly an hour. Sideswipe, having been playing with the jets, was nearly a hundred miles from home. Thundercracker sported a new racing stripe before making a hasty retreat back to his faction. Sideswipe suffered from numerous injuries from the attack, many caused by a jet rolling on top of him as they scuffled on the ground, where Sideswipe had the advantage. **

**Now, several dings, dents, scrapes, and blown gaskets later, the red Lamborghini was taking refuge on the outskirts of an exotic car dealership. The place was locked up, preventing the front liner from taking a position inside to blend into his environment in case Thundercracker decided to return with his trine. Sadly, Sideswipe was stuck on the outside of the perimeter, his usual pristine shine now dulled and abused, one wheel protruding slightly due to a faulty transformation. The only thing for the warrior to do was lay low and allow his self repair systems to engage and get him stable enough to return to the Ark. **

**Cycling his repair systems, Sideswipe allowed himself to drift into recharge mode, oblivious to the world. **

**Dawn broke with a rather strident blare from a horn. Sideswipe snapped out of recharge, ready to yell at his brother for the wake up call, when he realized he wasn't in his shared quarters with his brother. He was outside of the base. Alone. No backup. Surrounded by annoying humans. And fragging cold from the rain that started to patter on his chassis.**

**Checking diagnostics, Sideswipe let out a grumble of protest. **

"**Only 78 percent?" he muttered, starting his engine and pulling away from the curb. "I must need a tune up!"**

**Traffic barely allowed him access, and after a block, a full stalemate kept the commuters in tightly packed groups. Cursing his luck, Sideswipe tried his radio, hoping his repair nanites had seen fit to give him a voice so he could alert the other Autobots. **

"**Sideswipe to Ark," he said, voice already strained with the early morning commute.**

"**Red Alert here," came the welcomed, yet unwelcomed response. Red Alert wasn't one of Sideswipe's favorite mechs. They rarely saw optic to optic and Red had a nasty habit of figuring out pranks that were works of art. "What's your status, Sideswipe?"**

"**Currently stuck in traffic, approximately one hundred miles away with only seventy-eight percent functional capacity." Sideswipe cut his comm. so he could verbally abuse another driver that dared to inch his domestic sedan so close to the Italian masterpiece. "Tell Ratchet I should be there in a couple of hours and I expect his regular bedside manner."**

"**I shall inform him of yet another visit," Red Alert said, not bothering to sound sympathetic. "Prime ordered search parties for you after the battle. They are still out on patrol. I can find the nearest to have you escorted to the base."**

"**No favors or anything," Sideswipe grumbled, allowing his engine to idle on high for a moment before settled back into a soft purr. "Nice to see that some bots care about us lowly front liners."**

"**Prime cares about all under his command," Red Alert added, not raising to the challenge the Lamborghini had a habit of starting. "Prowl and Sunstreaker are nearest and should meet you at these coordinates in half an hour."**

**Thinking it was way too early in the morning, Sideswipe gave a sigh and added, "Transmission received."**

"**Base out," Red Alert said without waiting for a response.**

"**Fragger," Sideswipe snapped, laying on his horn and scaring the hell out of the early morning motorist. He really wasn't a morning mech.**

**Fifteen minutes later, Sideswipe nearly jumped out of his plating when a flash of blue appeared in his rear view. Soon the caterwauling sounds of a siren blared beside him, and being in an exceptionally generous mood despite current circumstances, he eased into the slow lane to allow the officer to pass. His generosity quickly evaporated when the officer followed suit, trailing his bumper by a few feet and showing no signs of passing. With a growl Sideswipe pulled over.**

**An officer, mid twenties with sandy blonde hair, approached and tapped on the window. He was fully expecting to see one of the pampered brats that race through town behind the wheel, offering him a jeering sneer and a lazy demeanor. He wasn't expecting to see a vacant car. He frowned, leaning against the door as if to peer further into the interior, and jumped back in surprise when the car protested. **

"**Do you mind keeping your oily human hands to yourself?" Sideswipe snapped, just feeling the fingerprints burn permanently into his polish. **

"**Hey… you're one of them Autobots…. " the officer started, but Sideswipe quickly cut across.**

"**Yes, I'm a member of the Autobots. No, you can't have an autograph. No I will most certainly NOT let you drive me. Yes, I understand the traffic laws and yes I understand that you have the power, however limited it may be, to enforce those laws and basically cause me to have what has not only been a bad day, but a bad week. And no, I'm not getting an attitude, I already have one and it is extremely limited on patience." Sideswipe shifted on his tires irritably, wishing he could just crush the annoying humans and have Prime kiss his aft. Some things were just below a mech. Sucking up to inferior beings was one of them. "I'm not a morning mech and I need to get back to base and get repaired, no doubt enduring some medical malpractice and then, quite possibly, getting reprimanded for engaging the enemy and getting hurt in the first place."**

**The officer felt his jaw hanging and immediately closed it. He had heard of the Autobots and had seen footage on tv, but never had he encountered a real, live talking car before. He had thought them all kind and generous and friendly to the human population. This ruby masterpiece apparently didn't get the memo. **

"**Well, I know you're new to the planet," he started.**

"**Yeah, only been here for four million years before waking up and having to endure this filthy mudball," Sideswipe couldn't help but interject.**

"**But we got some rules," the officer finished, trying to ignore the irate car. "And one of those rules is having a license plate with current tags."**

"**What are you talking about?" Sideswipe grumbled, getting the feeling that he was being scolded by the little meatsack. "I have a license plate and registration. I don't have a drivers license, seeing how I'm the **_**car**_**, but the government made exceptions."**

**The officer glanced over the interior, unsure where to direct his gaze and ventured to the back of the Lamborghini. He pointed at the back bumper. "You don't have a license plate."**

**The officer screamed bloody murder when the car transformed, cursed fluently, slammed down a monster sized foot in frustration and twisted himself around in an unnatural way that would have meant certain death to a human.**

"**Slag it all!" Sideswipe yelled, causing the officer to jump again. He looked down at the human, barely mid calf high to him and added, "Apparently someone has stolen my plate. Must have happened last night when I was in recharge."**

"**Wow," the officer breathed, his jaw hanging near his knees again.**

**Any further complaint on Sideswipe's part was halted as another vehicle crested the horizon. It's glimmer of gold caught the front liner's attention. Sideswipe's call of greeting was lost as the sound of transformation permeated the air and suddenly the warrior was flying backward off the road, feet disappearing in the thicket.**

"**Fragger! What were you thinking, taking on a seeker without backup?" Sunstreaker snarled, stalking to the edge of the road to glare at his brother trying to extract himself from the thorny hedge. "Are you suicidal?"**

"**I had it under control," Sideswipe snapped, hauling himself up and moaning when a long line of text started scrolling across his internal HUD. "Slag it! Down to seventy one percent!"**

**Sunstreaker drew back his fist for another punch, when Sideswipe's optics flared, his face contorting in anger. "Knock it off of I'll beat the slag out of you!"**

**Sunstreaker quelled his actions, but still pierced his brother with a murderous glare. **

**Another vehicle joined the group, the sound of transformation smooth and perfect. Prowl glared at the twins, then to the stunned police officer and knelt beside the man.**

"**My apologies," Prowl stated, making sure the man was focusing his attention on Prowl and not the two Lamborghinis exchanging death threats. "Has Sideswipe fractured yet another law?"**

"**He…. He…." The officer tried but found his voice falter. **

"**Someone stole my license plate last night while I recharged," Sideswipe added, regaining the road and transforming with his back bumper presented to his superior officer. The move had a double meaning. Prowl let it slide.**

"**We will see to it that Sideswipe is returned to legal status as soon as possible," Prowl said, motioning toward the horizon for the twins to start on their way. His attention remained on the officer who still stood agape at the mechanical beings. "Is that all?"**

**The officer snapped himself out of his stupor with the roar of twin engines. He looked from the Italian masterpieces to the being still kneeling on the asphalt and asked a sputtering, "Could I have your autograph?"**

**The twins chose to remain silent on the way back to base. As they rode side by side, Sideswipe couldn't help but note his brother's condition, so much like his own. Numerous dents and scratches adorned his immaculate paint job and there was a nasty scrape that ran the length of the golden twin's body. Sickly Constructicon green, if Sideswipe's guess was correct. Apparently Sunstreaker had seen fit to augment his color scheme in a rather brutal fashion.**

"**Nice stripe," Sideswipe jeered, knowing how much his brother hated being seen in public when he was less than perfect.**

"**Wasn't allowed to get repaired until your worthless aft was found," Sunstreaker groused, swerving a little too close to Sideswipe and causing the ruby twin to careen off the road. **

"**Slagger. Not like I planned any of this," Sideswipe mumbled, knowing his brother would have no problem beating the slag out of him. Sunstreaker was already a banged up mess. The splash of blood red from his twin wouldn't bother him, not when he was already so colorfully decorated. **

**Prowl remained in the background sending updates to the Ark and thanking Primus his patience circuits were so resilient. The twins were enough to drive anyone insane. **

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

**Two weeks later and Sideswipe received a package from the Department of Motor Vehicles. He snatched the packet from Red Alert's grip before the security mech could run his routine three hundred and seventeen security checks on it to consider it cleared. He disappeared in his room before Red could protest, and even if he did, the ruby twin wouldn't have paid him any heed. Neither party took the other seriously. Sideswipe's mandatory sentence of remaining on base until legal had driven nearly all of the Ark residents to insanity, Sunstreaker the only one that didn't show any difference of demeanor. **

**Sideswipe came parading out of his room a few minutes later, a definite swagger to his posture. **

"**Custom plate with magnetized edging and specialty screws that no human tool can manipulate," he boasted, before transforming and displaying his new plate. **

"**Let's see them swipe this," he yelled, racing out of the Ark toward freedom, his back bumper adorned with the new identity, '1SEXYMEK.'**

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

**Like it? Hate it? Hit the little button and let me know. Plenty more on the way… unless its hated. Then it's a bust post. **

**I'm open to suggestions as well. **


	3. Sunburn

**Sunburn**

**Rating: K**

**Genre: G1 – Pre-War**

**AN: Special thank you to yoong, cmdrtekk, Vivienne grainger, anon person, and jessie07. I appreciated the comments. Glad everyone enjoyed that, though I would like to add that I always type in bold print because I have problems with reading computer screens for extended periods due to work. Thankfully, has given us the ability to change fonts and sizes, which they didn't have when I first started coming to this site 11+ years ago. I hope this doesnt dissuade you from my stories and I apologize for any inconvience.**

**I hope everyone sticks around. I have no beta, so all mistakes are mine. If there's anything just GLARING at you, please let me know and I'll try to fix it when I get the time. **

**Thank you all again and reviews are most welcomed. **

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

**Sideswipe skidded outside of a large, ornate building, transforming before he came to a full stop. He held back a grimace of pain as he mounted the stairs, his optics intent on his destination. Tall structures stood sentry over the much shorter, but more eloquently designed building. What it lacked in height, it made up for in glittering majesty. Every inch was compromised of gem stones, set in mosaics influenced from around the cosmos. The building was the Mecca of the art world, sporting ever known medium and a few unknown that were better left unidentified. The surrounding buildings were the apartment lofts assigned to artists and allowed them complete access to the gallery and specialty shops. Or for the more unorthodox artist, rare mediums that proclaimed both morbid genius and crazy invention.**

**Most artists preferred a single medium, but keeping true to foible form, Sunstreaker tried and applied them all. And now, after many years of study and multiple refusals, he finally relented in showing his work. **

**Sideswipe entered the building, concentrating on his twin. Sunstreaker was nearby and if his spark beat was any indication, he was about to spazz out of his plating. Sideswipe understood why, seeing how it was the grand opening of Sunstreaker's work. And everyone had showed up. Perhaps it was the prestige that went with being the only set of twins sparked, or maybe everyone was curious as to what Sunstreaker could do, but the place was filled to capacity.**

**Lords, Nobles, Senators and foreign dignitaries, even the Prime and his entourage were present, though set apart from the rest of the crowd by several very fierce looking Security Enforcement Response Detail. **

**All of the social elite were here to witness greatness. It was something not to be missed, except maybe by the lower classes who would have to wait another vorn before the doors would be open for their lowly scrutiny. **

"**Invitation?" a bot asked, his optics scanning through a datapad to match up any given designation. If your name wasn't on his list, you weren't allowed in.**

"**Brother," Sideswipe snapped, pushing past the bot who beeped in protest.**

**A couple of Noble Mechs gave Sideswipe a sneer, clearly finding his actions to be distasteful and befitting of someone of his class. A foreign dignitary frowned but returned to his conversation. Sideswipe didn't care what they thought of him. The only thing that mattered was his brother and the fact that Sideswipe could feel an echo of overwhelming nervousness and panic seeping through the bond they shared. **

**Sideswipe stalked past the Security Detail, oblivious to their servos poised over their weapons as he neared the Prime's party. They relaxed marginally when Sideswipe paid them no heed or to the ones they protected. He disappeared through an adjacent door without a backward glance.**

**No one noticed the Prime's slightly elevated optic ridge. It was unusual for the Prime to be ignored, an incident he filed away into his memory banks for later perusal. **

**Sideswipe eased through the doorway that led into a small antechamber that was reserved for staff and featured artists. There was a booth in the back lined with mirrors and three shelves sporting cloth and polish for quick touch ups.**

**A deft thumb flicked the lock, effectively barricading the two occupants and ensuring privacy.**

**Sunstreaker sat, doubled over a recycling receptacle, clutching his midsection. He didn't even acknowledge his twin's presence. The stench of purged energon permeated the air, making Sideswipe's own tank churn.**

**Sideswipe stalked across the room and pulled Sunstreaker to his pedes. Without invitation his fingers moved along the golden chassis, releasing the catches. He eased the pristine metal aside, revealing the silver cylinder that housed his brother's spark. The casing cracked open automatically, highlighting the parted transformation of the ruby chestplates that had split to reveal the other pulse of life. **

**The two half sparks merged, forming a complete spark. Sunstreaker's rhythm was wild and erratic, which was his usual self, but Sideswipe's was calm and centered. Both sparks could function apart, but during times of extreme distress or pain, both would pulse out of sync. Only a full merge could realign the aberrant sparks, bringing them once again into perfect rhythm. **

**Sideswipe sent a burst of peace through their bond, knowing that Sunstreaker would receive the full benefit during the merge. And like so many times before, though usually Sideswipe was the misaligned spark, a gentle wave of reassurance was broadcasted. Sunstreaker inhaled sharply, not used to being on the receiving end of calm assurance, but melted into the sensation, allowing it to flow throughout his tense body and ease his processor. **

**His vocalizer was low when he spoke. "I'm going to tank."**

"**No, you won't," Sideswipe said, feeling his brother's spark start to re-sync with his own.**

"**You can't be sure."**

"**Yes I can. I feel it in my struts."**

**The twin pulses of life beat as one, strengthening their spirits. Sunstreaker pulled away, his spark chamber already closing, holding the precious gift of comfort and encouragement his brother had vehemently broadcasted.**

"**What if everyone hates my work?"**

"**Then they're idiots."**

**Sunstreaker vented harshly, his optics downcast. "But what if they're right and I'm just a junk maker?"**

"**Then I'll inform them otherwise."**

"**What if the critics hate me? They're the ones that can make or break your career!"**

"**Then I'll beat the slag out of them until they see reason."**

**Sunstreaker felt like laughing, a mental image of Sideswipe taking on the most vile critic of the art world. Didn't matter if they were a minibot or guardian, Sideswipe would teach others on how to properly address an artist of Sunstreaker's caliber. **

"**Thanks, bro," Sunstreaker said, feeling his spark and tanks settle into a tranquil state. With a deep intake, he nodded to the door. "Shall I go to my fate?"**

"**With me at your side," Sideswipe grinned, unlocking the door and following his twin out. **

**The first thing the twins noticed when they exited was the fact that the Prime was no longer present. Sideswipe stopped a nearby catering drone and asked, "Where did the Prime go?"**

"**The Prime had to leave due to a possible threat in the mining sector. He sends his apologies, but his mate has remained behind to meet the artist."**

**As the drone spoke a beautiful femme approached. She was a pale dusty pink, with soft blue optics and curves in all the right places. When she spoke her voice was cultured and succinct, though gentle and Sunstreaker wouldn't admit it out loud, very seductive.**

"**The Prime regrets his absence and asks that I pass on his sincerest apologies to the artist. He requests a personal tour to explore the display at a more convenient time and hopes that the artist would be so gracious as to provide commentary."**

**Sunstreaker felt his spark thud in its casing, his optics enraptured with the beautiful creature speaking to him. Her words merely caressed his perception, his processor unable to decipher the scrambled message he was receiving through lovestruck sensors. **

**Sideswipe's spark resounded the sentiment, his servo resting across his chestplate in fear his spark would jump out of its casing. The Prime's femme was indeed a perfect specimen of the female populace. The Prime had chosen well.**

"**Any time or place," Sunstreaker said, his vocalizer a little tinny. With a start he realized he had been staring and lowered his gaze in proper tribute to the Prime's sparkmate. "I would be honored."**

**The femme gave a gracious nod and made to leave, but halted midstep. With an undefined twinkle, she added, "I find the exhibit to be quite enthralling and look forward to the artist's interpretations."**

**With a small smile she departed, leaving behind two thunderstruck mechs with matching dumbfounded expressions. **

**Sunstreaker faced the rest of the evening in high spirits, accepting words of encouragement and congratulations and the occasional word of disappointment from the dignitaries and senators. Finally, it came time for the upper class to give their opinion, a few choosing to remain distant and let their servants speak for them. **

**Sideswipe stayed by his brother's side, blending into the background and allowed him room to shine. Occasionally his attention would drift to a handful of bots that carried themselves with a little more aloofness than the rest of the crowd. Sideswipe overheard the servants talking and learned the reclusive bots were from the Towers, the top of the social echelon. They could make or break anyone, the revolving door of the senate proof of that. **

**A tall, reedy looking mech stood with them, his head always bent toward a regal looking mech plated with high quality alloys and polished to an unnatural shine. They caught Sideswipe's gaze twice, and both times they gave a stare that could melt titanium. **

**Sunstreaker graciously took the criticism and compliments, his spark only calmed by the steadfast presence of his brother. When the time came for the Tower mechs to make their judgment, Sideswipe felt his brother's spark freeze for a moment and a trickle of fear flood his lines. Instinctively he stepped closer to his twin; his chest nearly touching Sunstreaker's left shoulder. **

'_**That's Iacon's toughest critic, PoisonPen,'**_** Sunstreaker said through the link.**

'_**He's been with those Tower mechs all evening,'**_** Sideswipe supplied, adding a burst of encouragement along their bond.**

"**Welcome to my…" Sunstreaker started, but was cut short by the reedy PoisonPen.**

"**Don't bothering welcoming anyone to this….." PoisonPen gazed around to the collected art and gave a superior sniff. "This travesty. These mediums have been misused and the works mislabeled. They belong at the smelting pit instead of a prestigious gallery."**

"**Wholly unappealing," the highly polished Tower Mech said, his voice twangy. "I've seen better work by organic younglings."**

**PoisonPen gave an all-knowing jeer, his face twisted in cruelty. "I won't be giving this exhibition a good review. In fact, I may not find the words to describe the waste of materials, gallery space, and most of all, the precious time of some very important people. I'll be suggesting to the owner that he remove this junk immediately and supply a better candidate for my approval."**

**With one lingering sneer he departed, the Tower Mechs leading him out the door, their servants scuttling to keep up.**

**Sunstreaker stood paralyzed. If not for Sideswipe's firm grip on his shoulder, he may have toppled over and rusted on the spot. Fear, embarrassment and humiliation turned Sunstreaker's face to a molten hue.**

"**Don't listen to him. Everyone else gave you good reviews," Sideswipe said, not liking the frozen nature of his twin. His spark started to beat out of sync again, giving him a rather painful twinge.**

"**He's right," Sunstreaker said with a strangled whisper. "I'm horrible. What was I thinking?"**

**And without another word the citrine twin bolted from the gallery, oblivious to the owner waving a datapad loaded with credits for the evenings purchases. Sideswipe's optics narrowed as he felt his twin's pain and could do nothing to remove the caustic remarks that were undoubtedly going to fill the media.**

"**Just you wait," Sideswipe muttered, barely glancing to the gallery proprietor as he babbled about commissions and credits. Sideswipe authorized the deposit to his brother's account without bothering to look at the rather substantial sum and exited the building. He transformed, his destination locked in via a hacked communications satellite. **

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

"**What possessed your processor to attack such an influential mech?" the Security Response Guard asked. He was slightly taller than Sideswipe, with black and white plating, flared doorwings and a very steely disposition. Sideswipe had remained silent all during his arrest and booking and never vented about his circumstance as he was led into one of the isolation cells in Iacon.**

**Sideswipe lay back on the small berth inside the cell, getting comfortable and staring up at the pockmarked ceiling.**

"**No one burns my Sun."**


	4. Following the Sun

**Following the Sun**

**AN: To each and every one to who IMed, Favorite'd, Alert'ed this story, I'm grateful for your encouragement and your reviews are just wonderful. I truly thank you all for the support and I hope you continue to stick with me.**

**Genre: G1 AU- or any'verse**

**Warning: May need tissues. Proceed with caution and Kleenex**

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

"**Don't go."**

"**I'm not going anywhere."**

"**Don't leave me."**

"**I never would."**

"**Yes, you would. You already have."**

"**No, I haven't. I stayed." Sunstreaker gave his brother an exasperated look that softened instantly. "For you."**

"**Primus, Sunny. I'm so tired." Sideswipe groaned, wanting so much to curl up and sleep a full week. **

"**I know, and I'm sorry. It's all my fault."**

"**No, its mine. I was being an aft."**

"**You're always an aft."**

"**I gave away our position."**

"**You've done that before. Nothing new there."**

"**I took on the Cons."**

"**With my help," Sunstreaker said, giving his brother a look of surly disapproval. He had jumped into the fight, eager and pulsing and furious as his namesake. He had been nothing but a blur on the battlefield. "Besides, you've taken them on before. No new territory or nothing news worthy there."**

"**I thought I could take them down. Always have in the past."**

"**But you were injured."**

"**Ratchet said I could still fight."**

"**No, Ratchet said you weren't to engage in any strenuous activity for a full Earth month." Sunstreaker frowned at his brother. "Idiot."**

"**Primus, he's going to be pissed."**

"**He'll get over it. He always does."**

"**I have a feeling he won't this time."**

"**Oh, he will. He tries to hide it, but his spark is as big as his vocabulary."**

"**And his determination as tough as his wrenches."**

"**He can't save everyone," Sunstreaker muttered, staring off into the distance, as if his very will would make the medic appear. "Deep down he knows that."**

"**Primus, this hurts." Sideswipe gasped, trying to move. He winced, unable to continue. A spark erupted from his shoulder joint.**

**Sunstreaker looked down at his brother, feeling so helpless. He was unable to get to his twin in time before Devastator caught the red terror and proceeded to twist and tear. One of Sideswipe's legs was completely crushed, crumpled like an accordion. The other was somewhere in the distance, having been the first thing that pulled free from the bloody frame. One arm was missing, the other severed right above his elbow. **

**Sunstreaker had felt his brothers pain and raced to his side. When he came upon the scene it was to find a complete massacre. Bodies littered the ground, grayed unto death. Pools of discolored energon filled the tiny dips and valleys of the landscape. Sunstreaker could only watch in horror as his brother was crushed in the giant palm, sparks and fluids erupting from the fallen warrior in a brilliant pyrotechnic display.**

**Now, after all the shouting, booming, earth rattling noise that accompanied battle, there was only silence. No cries of fallen warriors, no wails of the grief stricken, not even a soft staccato of escaping life. Sunstreaker hovered over his brother, unable to stop the flow of life that ebbed away, being absorbed into the ground as offering.**

"**Ratchet will be here soon." Sunstreaker hated feeling so useless. Hope was the only thing he could offer his downed twin. Basic field repair didn't cover anything like this. **

"**Can you see him?"**

**Sunstreaker scanned the smoking wreckage. The human park had once been very beautiful, now, it lay in waste. Charred trees, smoldering brush, scorched earth and pale blue smoke greeted his vision. Distantly, grey mounds of fallen comrades rose from the fog, unmoving and accusing, as if their hollow optics could stare down the living and silently ask, 'Why not you?'**

"**No, but he's on his way," Sunstreaker said, pulling his gaze from the remains. **

"**How can you be sure?" Sideswipe asked, energon starting to trickle from the corner of his mouth.**

"**It's a law of nature." Sunstreaker grinned. "Someone goes down. Ratchet swoops in, fixes them, threatens them, they heal and then get punished for being an idiot." He smirked as his twin. "We kind of wrote the law after so many millennia of practice."**

"**Yeah, we did give Ratchet a lot of practice."**

"**So much so he was able to perfect it," Sunstreaker added, trying to keep his voice from cracking. It felt like a physical ache, seeing his brother so broken.**

"**And implement it on everyone else."**

"**Odd, how they tried not to repeat their offences."**

"**Yeah. Everyone knows you don't learn a lesson until the one million mark." Sideswipe tried to laugh, but the action caused a cascade of sparks to shower from the gaping hole in his chest. **

**Sunstreaker could only stare in powerless sorrow, looking into the chasm perforating his brother's chest. The spark chamber was cracked, the piercing blue light spilling out of its containment. A lucky shot had permanently crippled the red warrior. As he hung limp from Devastator's grasp, sparking and bleeding, the combiner simply tossed him to the ground like unwanted refuse. **

**Broken, bleeding, and in pain, he had watched as his twin jumped to his defense. The two combatants leaving his field of vision in a vicious song of grinding metal, screaming weapons and an aria of profanity. A searing heat had exploded throughout his body, snapping him back to consciousness. A cold numbness spread over his body, the pain ebbing away into nothingness. Occasionally a spark would flare to life, sending a jolting, searing pain straight into the frontliner's processor.**

**Sideswipe had come back online feeling cold and disoriented, but due to the large puddle he resided in, it was no wonder. Sunstreaker was kneeling beside of him, looking as gorgeous as ever. How the mech managed to look so good all the time, Sideswipe never knew. **

**Sunstreaker continued his vigil over his brother, watching his expression for signs of discomfort, though there wasn't anything he could do to ease the suffering of the only one who ever truly cared about him. One would think Sideswipe learned his lesson, but then again, his plating was rather thick. Always going on the offensive, attacking Cons as easily as sipping energon. **

**Fearless.**

**Fierce.**

**And Sunstreaker always followed. Blinding charging in, usually to save his twin's aft. Sometimes, just for the pure pleasure of inflicting pain on the enemy. They were a formidable pair. Unstoppable team.**

**Idiotic duo.**

**Now Sideswipe laid, battered and broken, the life draining away from his handsome features in a tormented agony. He grimaced as another spark erupted near the hole punctured through his chest, the flare sending a cascading heat over his numbed plating, before retreating, the ghost of its touch already forgotten on the scarred metal. Sunstreaker could only stare as his brother fought for his life, gazing at the face that was so much like his own. Not as perfect, but close enough to be labeled an ideal second. They were twins after all.**

**And now one was fading, the other a spectator to the worst moment fate could inflict on the duo. It wasn't fair. There was still so much to do. Everything to plan for. Autobots to prank, Cons to shoot, and high grade to be indulged. **

**Lives that still needed to be lived. **

**But help wasn't coming. There were no shouts of fallen warriors calling for aid. No screams of agony. Only silent acceptance. An acceptance Sunstreaker was loathed to behold. **

"**Tired," Sideswipe sighed, his voice fritzing due to static.**

"**I know," Sunstreaker whispered, his fingers lightly tracing his brother's face, a ghostly reminder to keep him anchored to the present.**

"**I'm sorry," Sideswipe said, giving his twin the most sincerest look he could muster. It looked unnatural on the infamous troublemaker. **

**Sunstreaker shimmered in Sideswipe's optics, the light growing dim.**

"**Not your fault," Sunstreaker muttered, watching as the light paled in the ruby chest. "Even Cons get off lucky shots every once in a while."**

**Sideswipe offered a tired smile, his warped cooling fans sputtering to a halt.**

"**Poor things. Happens so rarely for them." Sideswiped jibed, the smile faltering. He grimaced, his processor sending phantom pain from his mangled body.**

**Sideswipe tensed, the lax wires growing taut before twitching, and relaxing into an inert state once again, their energy spent. Sunstreaker wanted desperately to stop his brother's suffering, to save him the torment of slowing bleeding out. To end the misery and give his twin the peace he deserved. But fate was cruel to the golden warrior.**

"**Sunny, I'm scared," the words were choked by static. **

"**Don't be," Sunstreaker said, laying a hand on his brother, though Sideswipe could no longer feel it. "I'm right here."**

"**I know," Sideswipe whispered, the smile fading. His optics flickered once, twice, and then darkened. The only light visible was the soft blue glow of his spark. "Always together."**

"**Together forever." Sunstreaker whispered, hating himself for being so useless. **

**Sideswipe whimpered, a shower of sparks erupting from his severed shoulder. His plating rattled from the intensity, earning a pained keen from his vocalizer. Fans no longer cycling air, Sideswipe gasped, hoping to force air through his vents, but the fans remained stubbornly immobile. **

"**Sunny!" Sideswipe yelled, unable to see his remorseful twin beside of him.**

**Sunstreaker clenched his fists, watching as his brother flailed, his body dancing to the beat of his dying systems. He wanted to scream and cry and rage at the universe for the injustice of it all. But deep down, Sunstreaker knew it wasn't possible. His sorrow could not be voiced. His anger could not have an outlet. A silent fury of the sun that only the universe, and its creator, could have heard and understood. No one else could listen to his pleas, hear his anguish. His voice would fall on deaf ears. **

"**I'm here, Sideswipe," Sunstreaker managed to say, watching as the light of his brother's spark fluttered. "Let go. I'm here. I'll catch you."**

**Sideswipe shook violently, his systems powering down. A strangled rattle escaped his vocalizer as the brilliant blue spark flared in one last echo of life, before disappearing from the world. Sideswipe's mangled frame relaxed against the scorched earth, his once shining red armor dulling to a pale grey. **

**A form shimmered next to Sunstreaker. A ruby hand extended, touching his arm. He turned and saw his twin, as perfect as himself, standing next to him. Sideswipe's mischievous grin had followed him into the afterlife. An eternal twinkle that would forever shine.**

"**Now what?" Sideswipe asked, looking around at the battlefield.**

"**Now, we go the Well of Sparks," Sunstreaker grinned, ignoring the fading sounds of the world they were no longer a part of.**

**Sideswipe placed his arm around his brother's shoulders, a natural fit as always.**

"**Do you think it's possible to get thrown **_**out**_** of the Well of Sparks?" Sideswipe asked, giving his brother a cheeky look that meant only one thing.**

**Sunstreaker groaned as he was lead away, knowing his brother was already scheming. **

**Neither twin noticed Ratchet cresting the hill, screaming for responses from his favorite two patients. And neither knew the torment and grief the medic suffered until he too joined the Well. **

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

**And I bet Ratchet beat their afts. I had a hard time writing this simply because I adore the twins and cant imagine one without the other. In fact, if I ever win the lottery, I'm getting a Lambo… course I'll have to get two. Can't have one without the other. I may get an orange one… nahh…. Not the same. **

**Anyhoo, let me know what ya think. I try to range emotions. The twins aren't always fun and loving and troublesome to Datsuns. They have a mean streak too… course its more prevalent when they see purple.**

**Any ideas or suggestions? I'm open :D**


	5. Project Sidewinder

**Project: Sidewinder**

**Genre: G1**

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

"**Slagging stupid, door-winged demon from the lowest level of the Pit," Sideswipe snarled in contempt.**

**Sunstreaker echoed the sentiment, scanning through a request form that seemed abnormally long winded. If someone wanted extra polish, they could slagging well go get it themselves. Or send one of the humans on a supply run. Simple problems demands simple resolutions. The bureaucracy was a pit spawned bitch to get through.**

"**I'll get him back for this," Sideswipe vowed, his optics burning from staring at the scrolling text on a datapad.**

"**You even think about it, and I'll rip your legs off," Sunstreaker promised, sending a foreboding darkness through their bond.**

**Sideswipe sent his twin a Bronx cheer. After years of causing trouble and enjoying the many punishments Prowl saw fit to bestow on the twin troublemakers, he had finally found the worst punishment of all.**

_**His job.**_

**Forget the brig. Scrubbing halls and personal quarters. Monitor duty. No bathes or polishes. Human babysitting. Muddy chassis. Low end oil. Skimpy rations. Pit, once he even had Wheeljack to lock the twins into car mode and made them endure an automotive show, complete with signs offering the public a chance to get 'hands on'.**

**But this… this… slag.**

**Schedules and rules, documents and complaints and requests forms. The twins were currently up to their optics in Prowl's workload. How Prime agreed to this debauchery of justice the twins would never know. But Prowl sent them a large data packet and once it was downloaded, the twins' hell had begun.**

**Datapads began arriving. Bots started to filter into their room, all demanding or complaining about something. Gears and Mirage were now guests of Ratchet thanks to Sunstreaker's temper. Red Alert was still in medbay, but Ratchet promised the culprit, Prowl, a thorough thrashing when the SIC returned. Apparently the Second had been under orders from the cranky medic and Prime to get some rest, claiming the tactician was overworking himself. So with their gentle reminders (Jazz standing nearby looking very grim), Prowl had to think of something quick. His schedule was already set for the coming day. Sideswipe was due for a punishment detail for contraband high grade (Prowl still wasn't able to locate the still), and Sunstreaker was in trouble for shoving a paintbrush up Brawn's olfactory sensor. Neither twin seemed to learn any lesson from their punishments, and the idea struck just as Jazz followed the tactician to his office. Prowl sent out the data packet that virtually sent the twins into meltdown.**

**The packet included everything that had to be done by a specific time, and everything had to be finished with the level of efficiency and accuracy according to Prowl's standards. There were to be no shortcuts, but if any discrepancies were found, the twins were to do all the paperwork over again. A sentence they decided they didn't want to repeat. **

**As Prowl was lead from the Ark by Jazz and Bluestreak, he sent a message on all comms, informing the occupants of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's new duties. The trio was gone by the time Ratchet got to Red Alert, who had completely fritzed upon hearing the twins were now in charge of all his security reports. Hence Prowl's promised thrashing upon his return.**

**Now both twins had processor aches, their backs hurt from bending over data pads and still more were coming in. It was a never-ending stream.**

"**How does the slagger do it?"" Sunstreaker asked, tossing a completed request form on the short pile. **

"**Beats me," Sideswipe grumbled with a pout. "It's taken nearly all morning to figure out this diplomatic junk and I think I just about have it finished."**

**Suddenly klaxons went off, sending Sunstreaker out the door before Sideswipe could react. He tossed the datapad onto his desk, vowing to finish it if he survived the coming battle. Secretly he hoped he'd be laid up for weeks in medbay, preferably in deep stasis. He despised doing Prowl's job, and it had only been the first few hours. **

**No one saw the tiny saboteur slink out of the shadows, exploring, before disappearing out the door an hour later. **

**Four hours later the twins came trudging into their room, exhausted and as uninjured as they had left. Apparently the Decepticons finally realized the ground vehicles had to follow roads and traffic laws, and decided to hit a power plant a hundred miles away. By the time the Autobots arrived, the Cons had already taken a substantial about of energy and left, promising the humans another visit. Now, back at base after driving hard and fast to save the human facility, only to find no one to fight to rid of pent up energy, the twins had raced hard to get back to base. It wasn't as satisfying as hand to hand combat, but it helped release the unspent energy. **

**Sunstreaker groaned, his frame creaking. He made for his berth, but upon seeing the mound of datapads, he growled. One swipe of his arm and they went skittering across the floor.**

"**Slagging Prowl," he groused, getting into bed and closing his optics. "Remind me to kill him when I see him."**

"**You wouldn't let me have retribution," Sideswipe sulked, picking up the datapads and placing them on his brother's small desk. "If I don't get to make him pay, neither do you."**

"**You just want to prank him or do something to make him miserable," Sunstreaker said, settling in for a quick recharge. "I just want to kill him. Big difference."**

**Sideswipe snorted, giving his mountainous workload a groan, before sitting at his desk with a mutinous growl. **

"**Slagger."**

"**Amen," Sunstreaker muttered before slipping into recharge. **

**Sideswipe thought about joining his brother in slumber, but he was determined to finish the diplomatic summary. He picked up the datapad from the floor, frowning at its dark screen. **

"**I could have sworn I left this on the desk," he muttered, flipping the switches for activation. The screen glowed a pale gold, but no words appeared. Frown deepening he typed a series of commands, followed by his access codes. When they didn't work, he tried Prowl's and Jazz's. Even Prime's personal command code wouldn't bring up the file he spent the morning working on. With a low growl he ran a search and felt his energon run cold. The datapad was empty, save for a few human games. There were no files. No diplomatic requests, schedules, meeting alternatives, individual itineraries…. Nothing.**

"**Sunny!" he screamed, staring in horror at the blank screen.**

**Sunstreaker let out a strangled curse and squawk, falling off the berth and jumping to his feet, gun in hand before his optics fully onlined. **

"**Is it an attack?" Sunstreaker yelled, his fuel pump racing and ready for the fight he'd already been denied.**

"**No," Sideswipe said, keeping his distance. He didn't need to be skewered again by an angry twin. "The diplomatic meeting I was working on when we left."**

"**The … the diplom…"Sunstreaker trailed off, his groggy processor finally catching up to his attack instincts. "You woke me up for 'work'?"**

"**No. The work isn't here," Sideswipe said. "I was almost finished so I left it on my desk before the Con attack. When we got back, it was on the floor and completely blank."**

"**What?" Sunstreaker said, anger disappearing with his weapon.**

"**You don't suppose the Con attack was a diversion so someone could get the itineraries? Do you?" Sideswipe asked, feeling his tank disappear through the floor. There was a lot of information about high elected officials in that file. If the wrong person got a hold of it, all of Sideswipe's hard work would be used against them. Not to mention, Prowl would be furious. **

"**You tried the back ups?" Sunstreaker asked, looking the pad over.**

"**Uhmmm…." Sideswipe stalled, hoping to gauge his brother's reaction. "I was waiting until the very end to save."**

"**Smart," Sunstreaker deadpanned. "Really intelligent processor you have there. Quality. Top of the line, idiotic subroutines working at optimal level."**

**Sideswipe frowned. "If no one bothered the pad, then everything would still be on the screen."**

**Sunstreaker thought for a moment and gave a nod. "Okay. Point taken. So, what do you think we should do?"**

"**Prime needs to know," Sideswipe said, starting for the door.**

**Against his better judgment Sunstreaker followed. Half an hour later, Prime finished his reports for the local human government with Red Alert and Ironhide's assistance. He turned to see a disgruntled golden warrior and jittery ruby Lamborghini.**

"**Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, what's wrong?" Prime asked, instinct telling him that something was up with the pair.**

**Sideswipe looked too embarrassed to speak, so Sunstreaker yanked the datapad from his brother's hand and presented it to their leader. "Sideswipe was working on the diplomatic slag that Prowl sent before he abandoned us, and my dear idiotic brother swears he left the data pad on the desk, but when we got back, it was on the floor and blank."**

"**What about back ups?" Prime asked, accepting the pad and scanning through its menu.**

"**Numb nuts here doesn't like to save things until the very end," Sunstreaker said with a roll of his optics. "I've already explained his idiocy, but I doubt it sunk in. I recommend Wheeljack weld it to his aft. That may teach him."**

"**The point is, Prime," Sideswipe put in, sending a violent push through the bond with his twin, "When I tried to finish the report, the screen is blank. All of the information is gone. Wiped from the system completely."**

**Prime nodded, typing in his access code. When nothing happened, Sideswipe added, "I've tried several codes. None of them work, not even yours. Do you think this is a Con trick?"**

"**How do you know Prime's code doesn't work?" Ironhide asked, frowning at the blood red front liner. **

**Optimus didn't catch the slip and asked, "Was anything else out of place?"**

"**How could anyone tell in that mess they call a room?" Ironhide quipped.**

"**Nothing else was touched," Sunstreaker confirmed, giving Ironhide a steely glare. **

"**Check the security logs," Prime ordered and several rushed to obey. With Red Alert in the medbay the crew had to rely on the paranoid Security Directors numerous cameras. **

"**Do we inform the diplomats?" Sideswipe asked, watching as Teletran zipped through footage around the Ark. **

"**Humans have a tendency to overreact when simple explanations are available," Prime said enigmatically. "We will wait to have confirmation of Con involvement before we proceed."**

**An hour later, the reports came in. Hoist, Tracks, Ironhide and Smokescreen all reported no activity on the monitors, apart from Hound wandering the halls, apparently lost in thought. Mirage limped into view, confirming he had checked their perimeter and found nothing. Bumblebee, Huffer, Windcharger, and Wheeljack all confirmed that the sensors hadn't been tripped or sabotaged. All cameras were operating at top efficiency and no outside influence had corrupted or hijacked their systems.**

**The Ark was as secure as it was before they left. Ratchet ran scans on random members of the crew, confirming their identities and reported no signs of Con interference. **

"**What about humans?" Sunstreaker asked, giving a pointed look to Spike and Chip as they joined Bumblebee. "The Cons sometimes employ humans as their spies."**

"**Nothing showed up on scans or screen," Ironhide reiterated.**

**Sunstreaker glanced to the active camera feed on the far screen and scowled. Hound was prowling around the corridors again, his head bent and sweeping from side to side. He looked like he was arguing with himself. Again. **

"**Should we recall Prowl and Jazz?" Ironhide was asking.**

"**Perhaps they can offer some assistance?" Mirage added, carefully maneuvering himself into a chair to take his weight off his injured leg. Sunstreaker knew how to twist a mech.**

"**I had hoped Prowl could enjoy some time off," Prime said, weariness creeping into his own struts.**

"**Where'd he go?" Spike asked, noting the tactician was suspiciously absent. **

**Ratchet stepped forward to answer. "Jazz and Bluestreak escorted him on a little vacation. He is allowed to return in one earth week. Doctors orders."**

"**Stressing himself again, huh?" Spike guessed. "Do you know where they went?"**

"**Jazz said something about attending an outdoor symphony and then they were to travel to the mountains," Ratchet said, giving a little shrug. "But if I know Jazz, it was a mad concert that's going to have their audios ringing for hours, then a trip to the mountains to enjoy the snow." When Spike gave a curious look, Ratchet added, "Jazz just loves snow."**

"**The mech is crazy," Sunstreaker supplied. "Liking the cold, the wet, and the miserable."**

"**Sounds like a soap opera," Spike laughed.**

**Prime switched to an alternative frequency and called through a secured comm, **_**'Prime to Prowl.'**_

'_**Prowl here,**_**' came the automatic response.**

'_**Prowl, there has been an incident and we were hoping you would share some insight,'**_** Prime said, wondering if Jazz and Bluestreak were physically restraining the hard working Second in Command. His voice had sounded a little stressed. **_**'Prowl, are you alright?'**_

'_**I am currently enduring a rather vocal rendition of a classical masterpiece that I'm sure the original composer did not intend. To answer your question, no, I am definitely not all right,'**_** Prowl deadpanned. The exasperation was clear in his voice. Prime could almost see the tacticians optics rolling. **_**'What have the twins done this time? They had better perform their assignments to the utmost efficiency or else they will have to do double duty for the next six months.'**_

**Prime winced. Even he didn't like the thought of doing Prowl's paperwork. **_**'Sideswipe was working on the diplomatic meeting for next month when there was an alarm of a Decepticon attack in Alta City about a hundred miles from here. When he returned, he found the datapad wiped. We have searched the Ark and have found no infiltration from Decepticons or possible humans.'**_

**Prowl listened, grateful to have something to ponder on while the aria continued, his audios turned off so he could understand the incoming transmissions. Jazz and Bluestreak clapped and cheered with the crowd, oblivious to their charge and his unintentional work. **

'_**All video feeds have been confirmed and all mechs accounted for?'**_** Prowl asked, receiving the affirmative. **_**'No signs of infiltration or sabotage?'**_

'_**Nothing. Only a blank datapad that is now missing essential information for a diplomatic meeting,'**_** Prime supplied, staring at the offending datapad. **

'_**Has Red Alert detected any anomalies?' **_

'_**Red's still in the med bay.'**_

'_**Oh. Please, extend my apologies to him and Ratchet. It wasn't my intention to cause strife.'**_

'_**Figure this out and we'll call it even.'**_

'_**Has Ratchet interviewed or scanned all residence to ensure no outside influence?'**_

'_**Yes, he conducted a random test and all proved without a doubt that everyone is in perfect health and frames.'**_

'_**Wheeljack been experimenting?'**_

**Prime paused, wondering why he didn't think of the explosive inventor. He stared at Wheeljack, looking for signs of recent experimenting. No dents, dings, wrench-like impressions, or soot adorned his person. **

"**Wheeljack, have you been in your lab today?" Prime asked, just in case the inventor created something that messed with internal workings. Wouldn't be the first time and the thought always gave the Autobot commander the shivers. **

"**I checked in there, but I didn't see any evidence of Cons or wayward humans," Wheeljack answered. "Want me to go check again?"**

"**No, I believe you," Prime supplied. "I was just curious to know if you were building anything this morning."**

"**Not recently. Have a few schematics, but I'm still waiting on the request forms to go through for the deliveries." Wheeljack looked expectantly to the twins. **

**Sideswipe looked sheepish, Sunstreaker looked combative. He was working as hard as he could. Some bots just didn't know what went into the request forms and the stress it put on the mech who had to deal with the issues. Begrudgingly, Sunstreaker's opinion of Prowl went up a little. **

'_**Wheeljack's innocent,'**_** Prime said.**_** 'For once.'**_

**There was a moment of silence as Prowl's battle computer worked. Each mech was analyzed and eliminated, factors of hostility, socializing, patterned behavior, and ability to hold grudges against pranking or aft-whooping twins. No one raised the preverbal red flag. Prowl turned to the current schedule, overlapping it with the roster of who was on base. One thing immediately came to the tactician's mind.**

'_**Prime, has Hound returned from his ecological trip in Utah?'**_

'_**Yes, he's been back since mid-morning. Why?'**_

'_**Where is his current location?'**_

'_**Port side personnel quarters, section 5-Kappa.'**_

'_**I suggest you have word with him. Prowl out.'**_** And without another word, Prowl cut the connection, his attention drawn to the assembled choir. Jazz and Bluestreak had settled down, their optics still glued to the stage. Prowl sighed and switched his audios on just in time to hear the announcement of the selected piece before the choir came alive in perfect harmony. **

"**Let's go have a word with Hound," Prime said, motioning for the twins to follow. They looked to one another, bewildered and confused, but followed their leader as he led them into the section for personal quarters. Ratchet and Ironhide followed trailed behind.**

**Hound was staring at the wall, oblivious to the world around him. A low hum was coming from somewhere in his frame and hot air was puffing from his vents in either frustration or anger. Knowing Hound, it was probably frustration. No one ever saw the jeep get angry. **

"**Hound, may I have a word?" Prime asked.**

**Hound nearly jumped out of his plating when Prime's voice sounded so close. He whirled around, staring with wide optics as Prime, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Ironhide and Ratchet looked at him with curiosity. Well, Sunstreaker looked murderous, but that was normal for him. **

"**Prime! What can I do for you today?" Hound asked, and there was no mistaking the nervous twitch.**

"**Hound, by any chance, and we're not accusing you of anything, but would you know what happened to Sideswipe's report on the diplomatic meeting next month?" Prime asked, not liking the panicked look in the scout's optics.**

**Hound relaxed, expelling a gust of air, his tense body returning to its normal easy-going state. "No, Prime. Haven't seen it. But I can look for it."**

"**It was on a datapad in my room and when we got back, it was gone. Erased!" Sideswipe snapped, pointing to the datapad still held in Prime's hand.**

"**Or wiped," Sunstreaker amended, taking a step toward the scout and puffing out his armor with a blasting cycle of hot air. When Sunstreaker struggled to keep his temper in check, he expelled hot air from his overheating systems. Nothing assuaged his anger better than a good fight, and he was already denied twice today. **

**Hound never got the opportunity to explain what happened. Next thing he knew, a thick wire fell out of the wall and landed on the citrine twin. Sunstreaker yelled and cursed in a variety of languages, his body being slammed against the wall as he fought off the vicious intruder. Flailing, he tried to grasp the thick cord and pull it free from his body, but it twisted and coiled, evading his grasp. **

**A stab of iciness erupted over Sunstreaker's plating, chilling him to the core. Hoping to put distance between himself and the thing intent on ending his life, he started down the hall, back pedaling and thrashing, his hands whipping through the air in a golden blur. He felt the cold slip under his armor and caress his protoform and with an undignified scream and last attempt at saving his life, he bolted down the hall.**

**And ran head first into a stalactite, knocking himself cold. Everyone stood frozen, their sparks stopping in their chests. Sunstreaker lay, unmoving, the cord slipping along his torso to disappear behind his body. **

**Hound seemed to snap out of it first. He ran to Sunstreaker's side, his hands skimming along the body and floor.**

"**Be careful, Hound! It may still be live." Ironhide warned, his optics wide. **

"**I hope so," Hound said, still searching. With a happy chirp he stood, displaying the cord. It was nearly three feet in length, dangling like a dark noodle from his pinched fingers. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, until they saw the supposedly innocent cord coil and a low rattle fill the hall.**

"**Hound, what is that?" Sideswipe asked slowly, staring at the living electrical cord that had possibly ended his brother's life. **

"**I tried to find her before she could cause any trouble," Hound started, looking from mech to mech. "I didn't know the lid on her container was loose, and when I got back from getting some energon, she was gone."**

**He looked to Sideswipe, his optics full of regret. "She must have got into your room and sought out a heat source. Her species is attracted to heat, so she must have wrapped around the datapad to stay warm….so…" Hound trailed off, not liking the mixed looks he was receiving. **

**Prime looked stunned. Ironhide looked confused, Sideswipe was amused, and Ratchet looked ready to kill. **

"**What is it?" Prime asked, staring at the thing trying to strike the hand that held it.**

"**Crotalus Cerastes," Hound provided with a proud smile. "More commonly known as a Sidewinder." He offered a crooked half smile, "But I just call her Sally."**

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

**I just had to write this out after I caught a 2 ft copperhead in my house. **

**Its not beta'ed, but it gave me a kick to write. Inspiration comes at the **_**oddest**_** times!**

**As always, reviews are appreciated and any ideas will be considered. I don't bite…. But I do hisssss…**


	6. Streaker

**Streaker**

**Genre: G1**

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

"I don't think it's wise to mix these with high grade," Sunstreaker said with a frown, watching as his brother tried yet another concoction. "The last batch wasn't stable and blew up. We had to blame the whole thing on Wheeljack."

"Yeah, but he was playing around with his experiments again and couldn't remember what happened _before_ the explosion." Sideswipe didn't bother looking up from his mad scientist endeavor, his glossa snaking out to compress between his lips.

"Lucky coincidence," Sunstreaker amended, taking a small step back.

His brother's actions didn't go unnoticed.

"Don't trust me?" Sideswipe asked, looking at his twin with the sort of orneriness that was reserved for only the best occasions.

"I trust you when you're having one of your **sane** moments," Sunstreaker said, not rising to the bait and ignoring the tickled thrum echoing from Sideswipe's side of the bond. "But when you start acting like Wheeljack, I start to worry."

"Trust me," Sideswipe smiled that mischievous look and returned to his mixing.

"You said that last time."

"And everything went fine. The explosion wasn't my fault. I didn't know about the gas leak."

"Hardly grounds for an excuse."

"Now you're sounding like Prowl," Sideswipe cast a disapproving look to his twin.

"He makes a valid point sometimes," Sunstreaker offered a partial shrug.

"You listen to him?"

"Sometimes," Sunstreaker said, noting the color of the high grade had changed to an electric blue and was now humming. "Sideswipe, are you absolutely positive it's supposed to do that?"

"Never tried this combination before, so I don't know," Sideswipe said, sniffing the edge of the cube and earning a stab of fear from his twin. The contents settled after a minute, a dull shimmer to its surface though the electric flare still remained near the bottom.

"Looks stable," Sideswipe commented, admiring the color scheme.

"If it blows up again, you know we'll get the blame," Sunstreaker warned, still not trusting his brother's judgment or the seemingly placid energon that observed from its cube.

"We can blame Wheeljack like always," Sideswipe said dismissively, taking a small syringe and extracting some of the new brew to put into a sampling cube.

"Wheeljack was prohibited from his lab for a week. It was a precaution because the ambassadors are coming today." Sunstreaker informed his twin, not liking the giddy feeling starting to trickle through their bond. He was starting to feel the urge to giggle, and that was one thing Sunstreaker refused to do. He wasn't the 'giggling' type.

"That's today?" Sideswipe asked with a huge grin that could only be described by the human term, 'shit eating'.

"Primus," Sunstreaker muttered, knowing his brother was formulating another plan for a prank. He knew he had to get out now or he'd be blamed later by a very torqued off Prowl and Prime. "I'm out. If you want to have a normal conversation or want to join the rest of the sane world, leave your experiments until later and come with me."

"No can do, Bro," Sideswipe said with a little jerk of his head. "I have at least two more things I want to try and I have to do them now while Prowl and the others are distracted."

"Fine. I'll see you when you get out of the brig," Sunstreaker snapped as he headed to the door of the small storage closet. "But if you blow yourself to the Pit, I hope you know I'm not coming after your worthless chassis."

"Yes you would," Sideswipe grinned at his brother's retreating back. "You can't live without me."

"I have a life sized cardboard cut out of you. I'd make due," Sunstreaker snapped and exited the room, much to the grand amusement of his twin.

Sideswipe deposited a few sample drops into an empty cube, swirled the contents for a moment, then downed the liquid in two gulps. He smacked his lips, classifying the aftertaste and the original tang, calculating the new additives for the next batch and filing away the formulas for later use.

**00 00 00 HALF AN HOUR LATER 00 00 00**

"You have an impressive establishment here, Mr. Prime," an ambassador was saying, sweeping his arm to encompass the Ark.

Several of the other ambassadors agreed, voicing their own opinions and high regard for the beings that agreed to play host to their conference. The Ark was perfect for a diplomatic meeting. The more aggressive and distrustful nations had requested a secluded, neutral territory, and a few had suggested the Autobot base, seeing how they had no political agenda and no allegiance to any single nation. The President had made the request and was surprised when it was answered almost immediately. There was suspicion that the only reason the Autobots were invited was to get a glimpse of their ship, which was usually under high surveillance from their overly protective Security Director. His methods made the Pentagon security look like daycare.

When the President had confirmed the international summit, Prime had ordered the ship cleaned from top to bottom and all security measures put in place to ensure no one could hack their systems in case of espionage. A local hostelry was hosting the delegates and was the back up location in case of a Decepticon attack.

Sunstreaker sauntered in the door of the monitoring room, not bothering to acknowledge the high security guests, and plopped himself at a monitor. Two empty cubes of energon were pushed to the side as Sunstreaker placed his third on the consol. Some of the Autobots gave disapproving huffs from their vents and sent a few choice words via secured comm., but Sunstreaker paid them no mind. He stared distantly at the monitor, not seeing what was on the screen.

Prime redirected the crowd's attention back to himself before answering the ambassador.

"The Ark was the last ship built and was designed to house survivors."

"How sad," a female delegate said, looking around to the assemblage that had been following the dignitaries.

The Autobots had followed behind the international group, their paint pristine and bodies buffed to a high shine. Even Huffer was polished, though as Tracks had pointed out, you couldn't buff up slag and pass it off as quality metal. That had earned the Corvette a quick trip to the infirmary for a relocation of a foot.

Wheeljack was being monitored by Jazz and Ratchet, who had been assigned to watch the inventor in case he decided to sneak off and visit his lab while a hair-circuited idea was still fresh in his processor. So far the two bodyguards had to intervene twice, and both times it was easier to get the crazy scientist to focus his attention on something else. The chances were high he'd forget his original thought. Ratchet kept a wrench in hand as a back up, and Jazz kept a magna-lock on Wheeljack's back as a precaution.

As the ambassadors started to return to the conference room, Prime sent out a message dismissing the Autobot entourage and thanking them for a splendid display of military etiquette and Cybertronian hospitality. Sunstreaker ignored the comm. and continued to watch the monitors, wondering if Prowl would remember his gracious offer of monitor duty while the dignitaries were visiting and give him a respite the next time his brother pulled him into one of his schemes.

The ambassadors had barely made it into the hall, when there came a resounding scream, followed by an assortment of shouts. A high pitched caterwauling echoed down the hall, mixed with insane laughter.

Sunstreaker jumped from his chair and ran out of the room, expecting a Decepticon attack. He nearly ran into the few remaining Autobots escorting the delegates to the conference room and skidded to a halt to avoid knocking anyone over. The ambassadors were screaming in shock and fear, pressing themselves either against the wall or against an Autobot protector. Optics searching, Sunstreaker found the reason for the chaos.

Sideswipe was dancing through the hall, singing and laughing. His optics were pale and wide, his expression slack but jubilant, obviously quite intoxicated. And he wasn't wearing a single plate of armor.

He was what the humans would say, 'naked as a jaybird'.

Ratchet pointed to a nearby annex used for storage and ordered the delegates to take shelter. They obliged, Jazz and Wheeljack taking up position as protectors in case the Sideswipe wrangling got out of hand.

Sideswipe spotted the Prime and his face broke out into a maniacal look. He spread his arms wide and started to sing a Cybertronian ballad about honor and duty and love for Primus. Just as he reached the part about sacrifice, there was a metallic pounding of feet. Sideswipe stood singing like the old Earth movie legends until he went flying backwards, shimmering in a fine haze before disappearing. The sound of crashing and banging metal could be heard, along with high pitched chirps of pain and giggles. A few dents appeared in the walls, along with scuffs of light blue paint.

Ratchet flipped his wrench in his hand, his expression dark. With practiced ease he tossed the projectile. A resounding clang made him smile, until he heard an insane giggle, and Sideswipe reappeared, skittering down the hall. Mirage shimmered into existence, slumped against the wall, a dazed expression on his face and a slight dent near his temple.

"Oops," Ratchet muttered, retrieving his favorite tool and following Sideswipe.

The naked frontliner was heading toward the entrance to the Ark, laughing and bumping into everything as his stabilization servos were no doubt as whacked out as his processor.

Sunstreaker joined Prowl as he raced down the hall, the tactician's face was abnormally emotional. Prowl looked ready to kill.

"I didn't have anything to do with this," Sunstreaker felt it necessary to say, taking the tight turns of the hall with ease.

Prowl had a more difficult time maneuvering the hallway, but still kept a decent pace. "I believe you, but your brother is going to have a rather extensive stay in the brig."

"Can I beat the slag out of him first?" Sunstreaker joked darkly.

"That would be fine by me," Prowl said in all seriousness, earning a startled look from Sunstreaker.

Prime and Ratchet were behind the duo chasing after the errant twin and though Sunstreaker didn't know it, both had agreed with Prowl. Sideswipe was in for a long lasting punishment that hopefully would remind him not to repeat the episode.

Everyone ran outside after Sideswipe, not noticing the surrounding terrain was dotted with Decepticons. Starscream and his trine circled overhead, waiting for the order to engage their enemy.

Megatron noticed some of the Autobots exiting the Ark and yelled, "Decepticons… Att…."

The word died in his throat as he noticed who the Autobots were chasing. The protoform danced out of reach and giggled, parts exposed and equipment on full display.

Starscream landed next to his leader, his trine joining him, all three looking bewildered and stunned. Starscream glanced to Megatron and completely straight-faced, pointed to the continuing commotion and said, "You get the naked one."

Megatron gathered his senses, and gave his Second a loathsome look before snapping, "Decepticons, retreat."

Several of the Decepticons grumbled about wasting time and energy, but they all took to the air and started back toward their base. Little did they know several of their number were already loosening the connections to their own plating and would be running around the Nemesis tonight, having just as much fun.

[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

I torture them so, but I do it out of love. Not to mention they're just TOO much fun to pick on and their personalities make them perfect subjects to get into all kinds of things.

As always, reviews are appreciated, and I must say, with over a couple hundred hits per chapter and so few reviews, makes me wonder what's going on. HUGE **THANK YOU **to those who have reviewed thus far and/or sent me messages. The insanity will continue, thanks to your thoughts and kind words. Lamborghinis for everyone who reviewed!


	7. Side By Side

**Side By Side**

Genre: G1

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

The twins stood sullen at the entrance to the Ark. Every once in a while, Sunstreaker would send a dagger's tip glare his brother's way, along with a deep stir of anger. It was all Sideswipe's fault. Sideswipe was the one who stole his brother's paints for what he claimed was just a little 'adventure.' Sunstreaker wasn't even aware half of his paint was missing until he set up his easel early yesterday morning.

The transition of autumn to winter always brought the frontliner a certain amount of joy. Long gone were the seasons of Cybertron, though there were only two. Just like Earth they experienced cold and dark, followed by brilliance and warm. They just didn't have the transitional seasons like spring and autumn. Those were for organic worlds. On a planet made entirely of metal, supporting metallic beings, there was no rebirth of plant life. Just as there wasn't a designated time for plants to lay down their lives in cold slumber. Metal for the most part remained resilient, its autumn consisting of rust and disrepair before returning to the smelters to be reforged brand new. But those cycles were few and far between. But here, on Earth, it was a constantly changing myriad of color and sounds, sights and smells. And though the citrine warrior was loathe to admit it, he enjoyed the abundant transitions the planet bestowed upon its children.

So here he was, standing guard outside the Ark entrance, missing the coming dawn because of his idiotic twin who decided the crew needed a few touch-ups in their recharge. Sunstreaker cringed, remembering the color schemes Sideswipe had decorated his comrades with, and made a mental note to ask Ratchet to make absolutely sure Sideswipe was his true twin. There's just no way a mech could be _that _color blind while having a constant artistic influence in their lives. Sunstreaker was sure Sideswipe was adopted.

The two guards didn't know they were being observed.

Optimus Prime stood flanked by Ironhide, Jazz, and Prowl, all four watching the troublesome pair.

'_Think they'll learn?'_ Ironhide asked over comms.

'_Highly doubtful,'_ Prowl supplied, his temperament as passive as always.

The four mechs watched as Sunstreaker unfolded his arms, stalked across the entrance and punched his twin, sending the red warrior skittering on his aft. Then, just as silently, Sunstreaker stalked back to his previous position, leaned against the hull, crossed his arms and stared moodily out across the plain. Sideswipe regained his feet, pretended to shake the dust off his body and turned to the opposite direction, presenting his aft to his twin in hidden meaning.

'_I just wish they would take their responsibilities more seriously,'_ Prowl said.

'_They're a couple of aft headed glitches with breezy processors,'_ Ironhide supplied, giving the two unknowing warriors a disgusted look. They particularly enjoyed picking on the weapons specialist, their pranks becoming something of legend. But if one looked closely enough, they would notice the playful nature of Ironhide's incidents, as opposed to the rather harsh and brutal exploits towards some of the more abrasive members of the Ark.

Cliffjumper's missing hand, Gears' paint stripped down below the primer, and Mirage's shattered collection of singing crystals were just a few examples.

Now the pair was on what Sideswipe called, 'Redundancy Guard.' The surveillance cameras kept the Ark as secured as it could possibly get, so having guards stationed at the entrance was a waste of time and aggravating to mechs who needed the constant motion of physical activity. Sideswipe tried to warn the Commanders that immobilization didn't sit well with his circuits, and that they may have a severe case of what he deemed, 'Monotony Backlash', even going so far as to alert Ratchet to prepare the medical facility of possible injuries.

Ratchet had locked the medbay doors in response.

'_Hopefully they'll learn not to bother mechs in recharge,'_ Jazz added, glad the yellow dots were finally off his plating.

'_Maybe we should give them a taste of their own medicine?'_ Ironhide suggested.

'_Sneaking up on a couple of frontliners while in recharge?'_ Prowl asked, raising a brow ridge and giving his fellow Second a surprised look. _'You think that's wise?'_

'_Remember what happened when Hound accidentally tripped and woke the twins up in the lounge?'_ Optimus Prime asked, remembering the crazy incident that nearly had his passive scout torn into several pieces. _'They don't respond well to rude awakenings.'_

'_They're just loose screws if you ask me,' _Ironhide groused, doing a good impression of Sunstreaker. _'They argue and damage __**us**__ more than they do the enemy. If you ask me, they're not worth the trouble of keeping around._'

Just then the dawn broke, bathing the world in newborn brilliance. The twins stood, awash in flame. Two perfect warriors accented by the most powerful thing in the universe. Their build lean, their armor luminous of the dawn, faces set in determined masks as the world reawakened.

Two mortals, etched by heavenly fire. One vicious carmine, his armor glistening like spent blood of the ages. Light was absorbed by the supernatural pigment, bending and distorting it to illuminate the world with its demonic glint. It was as if something dark and foul resided in the color, hinting to the death and destruction that could be rendered so easily by the one strong enough to reign in its power. The one bold enough to display its fiery temperament, its only mortal master. A color as primal as its bearer.

The other carried the burden of a dying sun. The color of flames as they danced, either the beautiful seduction of explosion, or the radiance of a timeless nova. Egotistical, centering the world and hinting to the impish possibilities of its counterpart, it was just as consuming as the demonic glow, though of a more subtle nature. The colors of spent blood and dying embers, emblazoned upon their bodies in a permanent tattoo.

A pair of rutilent beings, bearing power and grace, though their dance was deadlier than most. A million ways to burn. Forged by fire, they were the flames of hell brought to life in two metal bodies. A single weapon with two parts.

They were protectors to those taking refuge inside. Defenders of the helpless. Wraiths of fire. Steadfast sentinels, ready to lay down their lives to keep their friends alive.

Suddenly the commanding officers could see the true fear and power that radiated from their comrades.

The twins may have been born with different callings, their sparks guiding them on an unknown path that never felt quite right. Then a war broke out. Sides were reluctantly taken, and yet their true calling manifested.

Tools that were forged at the worst time, out of desperation and fearful hope. Weapons created for war and destruction. Their roles had been practiced so long, it was doubtful they remembered their lives before the furnace.

The thrill of the fight. The satisfaction of the kill. The pride knowing their might prevailed over something vile that threatened all they held dear. Their destiny lay in the ash and smoke. When the war ended, so to would they.

Cast in metal, tempered by flame and pain, the twins came out of the tempest forever changed. They were the permanent emblem, created for their purpose. Wielded by the Prime that helped temper their new lives, the only one that could truly control the untamable force of Two. A mech they could look up to, respect. Someone in which to believe, who could return their world to its former glory. Someone they would lay down their lives for and endure the most sadistic of creative inventions, and yet, find the torture honorable.

They would endure, taking the pain into themselves to prevent its talons from sinking into a comrade or a helpless innocent.

They were beautiful.

They were deadly.

Fiery angles walking the mortal world, scorching all who dare violation. Effigies to war and hardship. Living pyres that many had been sacrificed to, their lives mere embers amongst the two living suns.

The dawn gracing in corporeal form, rich, vibrant, dangerous, full of promise, lethal. Even during the cold autumn, their radiance would never wane. It would always be felt, tingling the senses, warming the body, rejuvenating the spirit.

An eternal day, shining through time and space, leaving a mark on the world that would be forever felt. Lives would be changed, paths illuminated, destinies forged, their places carved in time. Their bodies may not last the tumult of war, but their presence would be felt and remembered. A memorial to when they walked the mortal plain.

The four Commanding Officers stood frozen in time, witnessing something truly remarkable and would probably never be repeated again. A glimpse of something so beautiful and yet, dangerous, hidden behind a handsome scowl and mischievous grin.

The sun rose further, its rays sliding over the pristine metal of its physical counterparts, giving them a warm greeting before turning its attention to the world below.

Sunstreaker moved, and for a moment, the officers could see the living flame. Then, in an instant, it was gone. Disappeared into the depths, though hinting of its continued existence by glimmers of golden diamonds.

'_Glad they're on our side,'_ Jazz muttered, his optics still locked onto the twins.

'_It's a wonder they chose our side,'_ Prowl admitted, he too mesmerized by the moving fire.

'_Let's hope they continue their allegiance,'_ Prime said, pulling his optics away from the vision._ 'For all our sakes.'_

00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00

WOW! Have I been shocked at the number of people who faved this story! I'm just in AWE. THANK YOU!

Please let me know what you think of this chapter. It took about three hours, give or take, and I tried to clean it up as best as possible, but sometimes when I'm reading, I get into this flow and everything seems to make perfect sense.

Anyhoo, hope you liked. Would LOVE feedback. If you didn't like it, still.. FEEDBACK would be awesome, and give me a better idea on what could possibly need adjusting.

As always, any ideas or thoughts or concerns or whatever, will be considered. I don't bite. (often)


	8. One Moment In the Sun

**One Moment In the Sun**

Genre: G1

00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00

"What about this one?" Spike asked, holding up a human sized picture of Hound fully detailed and gleaming in the sunlight. "It's not often we see Hound this clean."

"Put it in the 'keeper' file," Ironhide called from where he was seated at the consol, pictures flying across the screen too fast for human observance. He let out a grunt, clicking the erase button before anyone could see a photo.

"Find anything, Ironhide?" Ratchet asked suspiciously, combing through his extensive library of photographed idiocy from his shipmates, mainly before and after medbay visitation.

"Nothing worth noting," Ironhide answered.

A soft gasp drew everyone's attention to Prowl, who was scanning through data chips loaded with images of the Ark crew. Normally the tactician would be buried under a mountain of request forms, assignment rosters, available supplies, medical restrictions for assorted mechs and the majority of the haggling with politicians over violations and amendments. But today, he was ordered from his office by Prime to assist in the preparations for a ceremony that had originated from Spike.

When the human had showed up that morning in a blue mood, the Autobots quickly interrogated him until he explained his somber disposition. Spike explained about a Day of Remembrance, and launched into an impassioned speech about who had lost their lives for whatever reason and for those left behind to pick up the pieces.

So on Prime's orders, photos and videos from human allies and Cybertronian holo-imaging were scoured by the crew for an impromptu party/celebration that was to take place the following day. And as a way to affirm life, the closing ceremony was to feature the Ark crew and their new allies. As some friends would be remembered, others would be commiserated by the living. A way to affirm they were in this war together, and that no one would be alone or forgotten.

Prowl's assignment was the archival footage of the original unit established at the beginning of the war, up unto the time they crashed on Earth. Some of the data was missing or corrupted and needed to be properly fixed or deleted to free up available space, and only high ranking officers were allowed to adjust archives.

"What?" Ratchet asked, when Prowl showed no signs of expounding on his earlier gasp. Prime redirected his steps from the main consol and looked over his Second's shoulder, his own face lighting in surprise.

"Slagging glitches," Ratchet muttered, getting up and lumbering to the pair. His optics went wide at the photo displayed on the datapad. "Well, I'll be reformatted into a dishwasher. Sunstreaker knew Elita-One _that_ well?"

Prime's engine revved deep in his chassis, his optics hard on the screen.

"There's a caption," Prowl said, hitting the icon and reading aloud because of the gathering crowd. _"'__Up __and __coming __new __artist, __Sunstreaker, __receives __a __spark-felt __greeting __and __review __for __his __recent __work by __ElitaOne, __who __believes __the __young __talent __has __a __long, __brilliant __future __ahead __of __him.__'"_

"Think the holo-imager could have caught that greeting at a better angle," Ratchet muttered, looking to Prime who had relaxed marginally after the caption was read. He knew his spark mate wouldn't break their sacred union, but the thought of someone else being that close, that _intimate_ with his bonded really corroded his wires.

The twins chose that moment to make an appearance. Their shoulders were slumped, their optics dimmed, and paint jobs looking less than perfect, they scuffled into the command center. Exhausted from extensive patrols, recently allotted since a painting accident went awry and a very angry Prime stalked around the base leaving pink pede-prints, they didn't acknowledge any of the normal cheery hails of their fellow soldiers. They wanted nothing more than to inhale their rations and curl up on their berths for a very long recharge cycle.

When Sunstreaker was within arm's reach, he extended a data chip with full reports and turned to leave, when he noticed the picture on the datapad Prowl was holding.

"Where did you find that?" Sunstreaker demanded, weariness forgotten.

"Archive footage," Prowl answered, noting Sunstreaker looked angrier than what the situation warranted. He extended the data pad, withdrawing slowly when it was snatched from his hands.

Sunstreaker snarled, tapping several keys. Sideswipe perked up, sensing his brother's anger and glared at Prowl with an accusatory look. After a minute of furious typing, Sunstreaker presented the pad back to Prowl and snapped, "Delete this immediately!"

"What?" Prowl asked, stunned by the aggression now staring him down. "Why would I do that? It's a part of our history."

"Not _your_ history. _Mine!_ And I don't appreciate being reminded of it!" Sunstreaker spat, pressing the datapad closer for the Second to take. "Now, either tell me how to erase it, or I'll destroy the archives. Choice is yours."

"I will not allow you to destroy the archives nor will I erase this image," Prowl intoned, not perturbed by Sunstreaker's ire. He was far too curious as to why the front liner was suddenly so violent toward his past. "Why does it bother you?"

"It's ancient history. Something that shouldn't be mentioned ever again. If you know what's good for you and for the archives, you'll see to it that that photo, and everything related to it, is deleted." Sunstreaker growled, turning to leave. He nearly collided with his brother, who merely gave him a saddened look. Snarling, Sunstreaker pushed Sideswipe away, stalking through the door and hitting something metal on the way down the hall, if the loud banging crash was any indication.

"Why did he do that?" Spike asked, stunned by seeing the golden warrior so upset.

"Do any of you realize how much Sunny has lost?" Sideswipe asked, giving the assembled mechs an incredulous look. "That image was captured just before the first uprising."

The truth struck the senior officers before anyone else could cotton on. Spike looked from concerned mech to distraught brother, not sure how to decipher the atmosphere.

"The Artistic Pavilions were attacked first," Prowl recited slowly, his optics glued to where Sunstreaker had disappeared down the hall.

"Everything Sunny worked for was destroyed," Sideswipe said, giving the datapad held in Prowl's hand a contemptuous look. "The life he wanted was taken away from him by the Decepticons. Any chance at a career as an artist was ripped away from his servos and ground into ash. Those pictures of his past only remind him of what was taken. It's cruel and vicious for any of you to think you have the right to display them."

Sideswipe turned to leave, but Prime's voice stopped him. "We don't mean to reopen old wounds. We only wished to remember things past so they wont be forgotten by the future."

"Some things need to remain buried," Sideswipe answered, staring intently at the floor. "It's all that some of us have. Leave our pasts alone and honor the graves of those memories. They have no place here, in this time and on this planet."

Sideswipe started for the door, his head still bent low.

Spike called to the warrior, "You haven't lost everything. You still have us."

Sideswipe wanted to offer a caustic retort, but the pain and anguish bleeding through the bond from his brother stilled his vocalizer.

"Tomorrow, we honor the dead," Prime said, noting that more than one of his officers was shifting uncomfortably. "Everyone would appreciate it if you and your brother joined us in remembrance."

Sideswipe didn't offer a word of consent or pessimism. He strode out the door and headed for his twin, who was leaking more and more sorrow through the bond. Recharge came heavy upon the twins, who shared fretful sleep and broken dreams.

The next morning, the Ark came alive with the prospect of an evening party. The video and imaging clips were arranged by Jazz, who insisted they were thrown together in no particular order. (Smokescreen was giving good odds on Jazz's montage being the most pronounced.)

The Day of Remembrance went according to plan, or as Jazz put it, Prowl's rigid timing and general boredom. Red Alert managed to be pried away from the Security Room by Inferno, who insisted the automated systems could alert them in case of an attack. Red Alert only consented when Prime personally ordered him to attend the ceremony.

Red Alert nearly fritzed. But after a cube of high grade, he was in a lot better mood. Red Alert was a rather cheap drunk. And though it was obvious he was currently hammered, neither twin seemed to take notice. It was common for them to tease Red Alert and say just about anything they wanted, and the poor red and white Lamborghini would laugh right along with them, oblivious to being the joke.

But all the day the twins kept to themselves. Sunstreaker performed his monitor duty without a word and departed when Blaster relieved him at shift change. Sideswipe helped Ironhide move heavy weaponry to a more secured place in his lab, speaking little though Ironhide tried his best to get the frontliner into his usual wisecracking self. Sideswipe barely spoke and left as soon as the last box was placed in a secured vault. The rest of the day was spent in their room, and for once, there wasn't loud music or shouting matches.

Pictures decorated the rec room, each labeled with a designation and deactivation date. No one said anything when the cityscape of Praxus appeared during the afternoon. It was quickly followed by the Crystal Towers, Kaon, and even the seeker city of Vos. Almost every territory was on the wall, displaying not only lives lost, but culture and history as well.

Prime called all the mechs to the rec room before the usual evening ration. Everyone was greeted by Optimus at the door and gasped as they noted the assortment of treats and free flowing high grade. The twins merely grunted a return greeting and sequestered themselves in shadows along the back.

Now, well into the evening, half the staff was drunk, the other half were catching up, though some had a better tolerance than others.

Optimus Prime rose; his table slightly more elevated and gave him the advantage of gazing across the sea of faces. They were all so familiar, following him to the ends of the universe and back again. There wasn't anything he could ask of them and they would be willing to do, without question. Without hesitation. They were more than a military unit. They were a family.

Prime called for everyone's attention. "Autobots, we gather today to remember what was lost." Prime's voice echoed in the suddenly quiet room. Even Red Alert's unfocused optics were turned towards him. "And to remember all that we have gained." The paneled walls retracted on either side of the room, exposing large viewing screens. "We have found a new home and have made new friends. We are thankful for their generosity and trust they have shown us. Let us never forget the past, nor ignore the present, thankful for what we have, and pray for a brighter future."

The room darkened and the screens came to life, first showing the many wonders of Earth, then its many inhabitants. A collage of pictures appeared, showing the Ark residents with humans, laughing, singing, and in the case of one poker night, Smokescreen and Sparkplug scowling at each other. Then individual bots were featured, sometimes relaxing, engaging in recreational activities that had the room howling with laughter, or the more somber times after battles.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe caught glimpses of themselves in the background a couple of times, but the screen flickered to the next bot of interest, showcasing their lives amid laughter and cheers.

Mirage gasped, seeing a photo of himself after a particularly trying mission, then the footage of his marksmanship and the superior sneer he adopted when he _knew_ he kicked some aft.

"That was my file," Bluestreak said to the spy, grinning ear to ear. "I'll never be that good though."

Mirage felt like encouraging the young gunner, but his voice died when his last photo appeared. Bluestreak's grin broadened and added, "That one's from Prime."

The scene was of Mirage standing with his family outside their home in the Towers, greeting Sentinel Prime as Optimus observed from a distance. Mirage lowered his head for a long time after the image disappeared, beginning the homage to the next Autobot in the unit.

Next were the exploits of Bumblebee, mostly involving Spike, Carly, and being the recipient of numerous pranks. Sideswipe allowed a smirk when he recognized his handiwork. In every shot, Bee was laughing in good humor.

Jazz dancing and fighting Decepticons, Ratchet yelling and brandishing a wrench, followed by images of him passed out next to a patient. The twins saw themselves briefly in the background, before it switched to Wheeljack. Each picture featured something missing and Wheeljack sporting soot. The rec room erupted with laughter again as the inventor ducked behind Hound to avoid Ratchet's irate glare.

Prime graced the screens next, starting with the rare picture of a completely relaxed and peaceful mech. Then it changed, showing the many faces of war and defeat, pain, regret, and unending sadness. Video clips randomly showed the prowess of their leader, his frame always shielding his comrades from the enemy. Prime's collection ended with a shot of his beautiful Elita-One, smiling in an enigmatic way with the full, unmarred cityscape of Iacon behind her.

Prowl took center stage next, earning an irrated twitch of a doorwing. The first few pictures were of the Second on duty and poised in stoic military perfection. The next few made the Datsun choke and hide lower behind his table, making a mental note to put everyone responsible for this in the brig. A purple Prowl, a suspiciously unconscious Prowl, and much to everyone's surprise, a laughing Prowl with wide, over-energized optics. Prowl thought his humiliation couldn't get any worse, then a video clip appeared. Prowl couldn't determine which incident was being relived, so he couldn't figure out who had supplied the incriminating evidence. His optics darted automatically to the twins and was a little disappointed in seeing their shocked faces. Jazz started laughing at the screen, returning Prowl's attention. He felt his humiliation double, watching as his previous self escorted an inebriated Jazz down the hall to his quarters. Jazz was apparently singing and trying to draw his fellow officer into the chorus, but the Datsun wasn't falling for it. With an overzealous flourish of his arms, Jazz swung around, overbalanced and took a surprised Prowl with him. His grasping hands latched onto one of Prowl's doorwings, stumbling toward the wall and colliding painfully with the ship's hull, Prowl still clutched in his hands. The two Commanding Officers were leaning against the wall, nose to nose, Prowl snarling at the drunken officer roughly handling his doorwings and Jazz apparently finding the whole situation quite normal as he started nuzzling against the white and black bumper.

Jazz stopped laughing with the rest of his friends and looked to his best friend. He heard Prowl's engine rev in agitation above the low din of chuckles and muttering. Prowl's angered bark toward the screens made Jazz return his attention, then emit a shout himself, even throwing out a threat to whoever added this little surprise.

Bold letters declared across the screen,** '****The ****rest ****of ****this ****video ****is ****unsuitable ****for ****public ****viewing, ****but ****Tele-tran ****One ****accepts ****all ****forms ****of ****payment ****for ****private ****screenings.****'**

The screens grew dark. The crew continued to laugh at their two commanding officers dual looks of anger and retribution. After several seconds of blank screen, the crew started to clap, cheering and whooping at the wonderful homage to their friends and their craziness. No one noticed that two members of the crew had been missing from the collage, not that they themselves noticed the exclusion. It was when the screen lit up like a nova that most of the crowd stopped cheering and clapping.

A photo emerged from the dark. It showed Sunstreaker glaring toward the camera or the mech who had captured the image, his body highlighted by a blazing inferno he undoubtedly centered. His armor shone like a brilliant sun, the blue of his optics the purest anyone could remember.

It was Sunstreaker's turn to gasp. The faint applause had that lingered died out in a whooshing sweep. Everyone's attention was solely focused on the pictures now flashing across the screen. Scenes from galleries and museums, all displaying Sunstreaker's art. And the artist himself looking like something that stepped off the canvas. Bots in the background openly stared and admired the golden frame, and a few feminine optics lusted at the sight of such perfection.

Sunstreaker always said he was the most gorgeous thing ever to grace the universe, and here were the pictures to prove it. Sideswipe appeared in a few shots, looking just as dashing as his twin, though where Sunstreaker showed uninterested aloofness, Sideswipe was drinking it in. Quite a few femmes were pictured with the duo and the twins instantly riled, recognizing some of the pictures from their own personal files. They didn't like the idea of such violation, but as they directed their gaze to the perceived trespassers, their anger faded. Everyone, Prime included, was enraptured by what they saw.

Not wanting to miss anything the twins returned their attention back to the screens. A vast collection of shots raced along the screen, each depicting one of the twins in the heat of battle. Sideswipe pile-driving two Decepticons that left them torn at his feet. Sunstreaker deftly removing limbs from a Con whose optics were shattered like his body. Images of carnage flashed across the screen, sending chills down spinal struts.

Between the bloodshed and vicious attacks could be seen a downed Autobot. As hurt warriors were given shelter, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe distracted the attackers, giving their comrades time for escape or recovery. The scenes changed, showing the broken and torn bodies of the frontliners, sparking wires, hemorrhaging lines, and covered in energon.

The blood of their enemies blending with their own.

The collage flickered through the files, each showing the twins at their best and worst.

Sideswipe taking a shot that was intended for Jazz.

Sunstreaker limping and using a Con's severed arm as a crutch.

Sideswipe crawling after a weapon.

Sunstreaker punching a Con so hard his face collapsed under the assault.

Sideswipe riding on Starscream's back, obviously whooping with glee.

Sunstreaker on Skywarp, fist drawn back and face set in determination to maim or terminate.

Sideswipe sneaking down a corridor, illegal high grade cubes innocently glowing.

Sunstreaker passed out at his easel, paint smeared on his plating.

Sideswipe laughing.

Sunstreaker riding Devastator's back, renting wires and surrounded by a halo of sparks.

Sideswipe sneaking up on his brother with a bouquet of flowers.

Sunstreaker shoving said flowers in every crack and cranny his brother possessed.

Sideswipe keeping vigil over a recovering Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker sleeping by his brother's side in a corner of the infirmary, their fingers intertwined.

Sideswipe throwing Prowl aside to take on one of the Coneheads, Prowl's shoulder sparking as Ratchet lead him away.

Sunstreaker grappling with two Constructicons, and the heavier mechs displaying more damage than the Lamborghini.

All around the rec room, heads shook in amazement. Breathing functions ceased momentarily. The pictures showed after battle images and after repair, many shots sporting dented helms, patched bodies, and mismatched plating. A true battlefield mess in all its violent, vicious, bloody savagery, and still the twins kept going back for more.

The collage slowed, letting certain images burn into processors.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both covered in energon and ash, missing various plates and a limb, sparks highlighting their bodies and grim smiles on their faces. Their only means of support were each other, lending strength they no longer possessed and determined to get back to their friends, despite the overwhelming injuries and life threatening wounds. Each step expelling their vital fluids as they struggled to go one more step, the other giving them the reason to keep going.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe arguing.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe sitting quietly watching a movie.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe laughing. Gambling. Drinking. Mourning.

The final picture made time freeze. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were curled into each other, deep in recharge. They looked so innocent and helpless, vulnerable and lonesome. It was hard to image such cruel warriors could find such uninterrupted peace, their frames practically glowing in tranquility. The scene faded to a nearly identical pose, though the twins had switched positions. And upon closer inspection, one could detect the discoloration of moisture around their optics.

There was also a tiny bundle clutched between them.

A small, ash gray body was curled into Sideswipe's chest, while short doorwings folded against Sunstreaker's. Both twins were clutching the newly found Bluestreak as if some monster would come and remove him from their protection.

The scene faded, but it was forever etched into the memory of those present. Silence reigned. Almost everyone looked contemplative, or proud, or just plain awestruck. Bluestreak looked confused. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe looked fiercely stand-offish, as if daring someone to say something caustic.

Bluestreak's timid voice cut through the veil of silence, his optics fixed on the twins. "I don't remember you guys taking care of me. Why can't I remember?"

"You were just a youngling," Sideswipe said, trying to pass the incident off. The attention was started to unnerve him.

"But I can remember Praxus," Bluestreak started, his voice choked. It was Ratchet who provided the answer.

"Your core memory programs were still developing," Ratchet explained, his spark weary with the memories of the young gunner's life. "Praxus had literally been destroyed around you and your memory cache couldn't decipher the proper emotional responses."

"But I thought Prowl.." Bluestreak trailed off, looking to his mentor. He could only remember Prowl being there for him and all the long, painful memory loops that kept him awake and screaming into the night.

"When you met Prowl a few days later, you recognized a fellow Praxian," Ratchet said. "Your subconscious latched on to something you could easily identify. Something routine from your past that could be reestablished."

"So where did the memory file come from?" Bluestreak asked, looking to the blank screen and still seeing the ghost of his forgotten past.

"It was mine," Prowl said so softly, he was barely heard. "That was how I found the only survivor of my city. Being guarded by twin terrors that could ward off any kind of monster. Two protectors that not only kept a scared youngling safe, but has also kept all of us, functioning."

Prime raised a cube of high grade, his voice commanding.

"To those we loved and lost. Who keep us safe, and who fight all our monsters."

The sentiment was echoed around the room.

Sunstreaker stared at the screen that had showed what he thought was his weakest moments, but for some reason, they seemed to be the best times in his life. Suddenly, the golden warrior didn't feel so lost.

00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00

Dedicated to those who were loved and lost.

Also, I need some help here readers. I lost my list with titles on it and for the life of me, I cant remember a good portion of them. If anyone has ANY ideas for titles, using the twins' names in them, please, let me know via review or email.

I'd really appreciate it!

Thanks for reading and please, don't forget to review!

PJ

ps, sorry for the repeat posting but someone mentioned the messed up formatting and I had to reload after fixing it.


	9. To Be A Side

**To Be A Side**

Rather unusual for me, having such a short chapter. I personally don't like the one or two page **'moment for specific one liner'**. I prefer to build a story around and idea and draw the reader in. That's why I tried to keep to the 5-15 page limit on these chapters, but this one just seemed to say 'I'm done, stop adding to me.'

So I listened.

Its short, I think a bit too much like the one-liner crap, but I've been assured its still good. And my muse hates me. Anyone want to swap, I'll put the bitch on Craigslist.

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

Together. Oneness. A sense of you and me that simply translates into, _**us.**_ The constant murmur in your ear that no one else can hear. The sound of a voice so familiar, you'd swear it was your own. Their beat of life, echoed to you in perfect tandem. A duet like no other. A song that only two could hear, a connection felt so strongly, there was no separation, only union.

Two halves that were whole, never to be rendered apart, not even by death.

If one was angry, it was the other half that needed to purge the negative emotion. If one was happy, the other was certain to contain the mirth. If either were sad, they would huddle together, enduring the torment. If one was in pain, it was up to the other half to take it unto themselves and ease the suffering. If love entered a processor, it was up to the levelheaded to point out the flaws and be there when they fell.

If one faltered, the other was left to pick up the pieces.

There were always two. Since the beginning, through to the hereafter. That was how it was supposed to be. That was how it was intended.

How was one to function without their other half? How was it possible for others to go about their daily lives? Get through the tough times?

And the Good? Who was the constant presence in everyone else's lives? Who did they turn to? Who took care of them?

Where was their balance? The one that made them complete? Did they feel the freezing solitude? Did they know of nothing but emptiness and despair? Did they now what was missing from their lives?

How could one go through life so alone?

It was sad they would never know what it was like. They would only know loneliness and heartache. They didn't know what a treasure there was in having a twin. One to keep you sane. One to help through all the horror and pain. Someone to heal your body and soul of the raw, bleeding, unbearable wounds. Someone to erase the bad and to make the world right again. Some one to fill the void and join in the celebrations and accomplishments.

The other half.

The best of you and the worst.

The perfect balance.

Two halves that make a whole.

Sideswipe allowed the ghost of a smile to grace his handsome features.

Yes, it was best to have someone. To not be alone and afraid. It was best to have your other half always with you. A perfect tandem that not even death could separate. Someone to share all the good and bad and would always understand and accept you.

Smile still in place, Sideswipe drew back his leg and planted his foot on his brother's side in a mighty shove that sent him flying off the couch.

Sunstreaker crashed amid a flurry of curses.

Sideswipe smiled as the room erupted with a sun's fury.

Yes.

It was great to have someone and not suffer such loneliness.

00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00

Yes, Sideswipe is a bastard. Just HAS to provoke his brother. But, that's why we love him and he's just so damn good (bad).

As always, hope you enjoyed and please drop me a line to let me know what you think. My mind is always open… which is why my brain falls out on a regular basis. I really should get a screen or something….


	10. Sunshine and Daisies

**Sunshine and Daisies**

**AN: Not the best of titles, but on a happier note, I FOUND my missing title pages! **

**Special huge THANK YOU to: Blitz-Krazi-1, Rio Voltaire, young, and RatchetRocks for the reviews and PMs. Its GREATLY appreciated and fuels my muse. **I get tickled, the muse gets talkative, and a new chapter is quickly born. **So I owe a MASSIVE Lamborghini drool-fest to all of you. **My muse is tickled, I'm actually writing again, and the world is a happy place filled with racing engines and perfect paint.

**THANK YOU! ***Hugs***n***love***n***pictures*****of*****Lamborhini***naughty***bits*** to you!**

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

"You need a new nickname," Sideswipe said, giving his twin a calculating look.

"I wasn't aware I consented to the old one," he growled, turning icy optics to his brother. "The one you insist on calling me is bad enough. Don't add nails to your coffin."

Sideswipe ignored his brother and performed a slow circuit around the room, taking in every angle of his brother's features and formulating possible names.

"Daffodil of Doom just seems cheesy," he muttered, squinting a little and ignoring Sunstreaker's murderous glare. "Savage Sunflower? Naw, it still sounds too…."

"Flowery?" Sunstreaker added, lowering his paintbrush before he snapped it in his grip.

"No, that's not it," Sideswipe said, tilting his head a little to the right. His face scrunched up in thought as he considered for a moment. "The Yellow Rose of Iacon?"

"Now you're being flowery and cheesy," Sunstreaker spat, pulling a rag off the artist cart and wiping his hands. "What's with the botanical nicknames?"

"Just experimenting," Sideswipe shrugged, now resuming his scrutiny of his brother's frame. "Demonic Dandelion?"

An evil look graced Sunstreaker's face, making Sideswipe grin. "You need something different. 'Sunny' is too boring."

"So isn't 'Sides'," Sunstreaker shot back, rubbing his hands together with more force than necessary to remove the excess paint. He hated when his brother was in one of these moods. It usually meant he had to put down what he was doing and entertain his lesser half.

"Let's see, Lethal Lemon just seems…."

"Idiotic?" Sunstreaker supplied, feeling a genuine aggravation coming from his twin. Apparently Sideswipe was sincere in his efforts in finding his brother a new nickname. Perhaps all the time they had fought over the moniker 'Sunny', made the ruby Lamborghini reconsider his brother's adamant rebukes.

"Xanthic xeno is a mouthful but a hell of a total on a Scrabble board," Sideswipe continued, oblivious to his brothers increasing frustration at being interrupted during his latest art project. "The Orpiment Ogre sounds like something from a Disney movie and doesn't really strike fear in the heart of anyone."

"And 'Sunny' causes terror?" Sunstreaker arched a brow ridge, enjoying his brother's distress with finding a suitable nickname.

"The Massicot Masochist?" Sideswipe goaded, not liking the triumphant feeling he was sensing from his twin. He was hoping to find something extra devious to rile his brother in moments of waning attention. "I got it!"

"Insanity?" Sunstreaker quipped. "I figured you would succumb, course I didn't think it would take this long."

"No, not that," Sideswipe frowned. "My Citreous Creature!"

"Enough of the animation failures!" Sunstreaker snapped, now getting genuinely irritated with the colorful turns his brother was taking at his expense.

"Lethal Lamborghini?" Sideswipe said, then shook his head.

"You truly are the embodiment of idiocy," Sunstreaker supplied.

Sideswipe chose to ignore the comment and walked up to Sunstreaker, parking himself in his brother's personal space. The action garnered the desired response and Sideswipe grinned, knowing he had irked his brother into a malicious grimace that didn't fit with his perfect countenance.

"Do you **want **to die?" Sunstreaker asked, taking a step back and riling when his brother mirrored his action.

Sideswipe wasn't deterred by his brother's retreat. If anything, the action was bringing out the sadistic amusement he felt when he knew he was pushing all the right buttons to get a rise out of the citrine Lamborghini. Sunstreaker recognized his brother's intent and started to back away from his easel. Every once in awhile, when there wasn't any Decepticon activity and pranks were a bit slow due to victims being vigilant and suspicious, there was only one way to dispel the excess energy.

A wrestling match of epic proportion. It was all in good fun and a great way to hone skills and practice maneuvers that weren't ready for the battle field, but sometimes, when energy was running high and tensions reaching their peak, the friendly wrestling matches turned into vicious fights that usually ended up with both twins in the medical ward.

Then it was every mech for himself when Ratchet stormed in to practice his usual bedside manner.

Sideswipe gently pushed the artist cart out of the way, his optics skimming over the mixed paints. He returned his attention back to his retreating brother and grinned. "How about my Caladium Canary?"

"I'll peck your optics out," Sunstreaker promised in a low voice.

"You're right," Sideswipe said, as if the two were merely comparing paint samples. "Not showy enough." He tapped his finger on his chin, deep in thought. "How about my Frightful Finch?"

"Aft."

"Love you too, Solar Flare."

"At least it's not a flower or bird," Sunstreaker sighed, before a blur of red launched itself at him and he had to defend himself.

An hour later both twins lay exhausted on the floor of their shared room. Both bore the marks of a rather violent discussion, especially Sideswipe, who displayed twice the dents, dings, and scraped abrasions caused by a pissed off artist. Their fans whirled on high, their repair systems engaging to stem the trickles of energon dripping on the floor from punctured hoses. Sideswipe winced when he moved his shoulder, feeling the ruptured line tear itself a little wider, the impressions a perfect match to Sunstreaker's denta.

"Russet Rogue sounds like something out of a book," Sideswipe muttered to the room at large.

A low growl emanated from somewhere near his right, but he ignored it.

"Flavine sounds flowery again, and we want to avoid that," Sideswipe continued, feeling an evil thrum in his spark that was not his own. The fight had done nothing to assuage Sunstreaker's mood. If anything, he was feeling even more violent. Sideswipe was just added fuel to the fire, and it was close to erupting.

"Ambergris Armada?" Sideswipe continued, his brow etched in thought.

"Do I look like an Armada?" Sunstreaker snapped, dragging his battered body closer to his irritable twin.

"Dear brother, I've seen you fight," Sideswipe said, rolling his head toward his twin and watching as the other Lamborghini fought his injuries.

Sunstreaker remained quiet, knowing his brother had a point. He may be one, but he was a multi-tasking, weapons flashing, armor piercing demon that made one rethink engaging such a combatant.

"How about, Nuclear Nova?" Sideswipe asked, optics glinting at the perfect nickname. "It's fitting. You go nuclear on people and you're as strong as a nova. Perfect!"

Just as he turned to give his twin a triumphant look, his optics widened as the dawn came crashing down. Sunstreaker had come within range of his idiotic twin. A comet-like golden fist collided with Sideswipe's face, sending him reeling into the darkness of oblivion.

"Lights out!" Sunstreaker snapped, falling back to the floor with a whine in his gears. He emitted a growl in silence, weighing the options of opening up a comm. to Ratchet, who no doubt wasn't in the mood for more twin related idiocy. Sighing, Sunstreaker felt a burning sensation along his side and knew the damage couldn't wait. He opened a comm. and explained to Ratchet he was the victim of another one of Sideswipe's ill-fated attempts at blowing off steam and was in desperate need of some medical attention. After a rather lengthy, verbal bashing from the medic, he assured the citrine Lamborghini that he was on his way, and he better expect more 'treatment'. Sunstreaker sighed and switched off his comms, knowing Ratchet could on for hours. And when he got there, he undoubtedly would demonstrate his verbal and physical arsenal. Sunstreaker glanced to his twin, who was now sleeping peacefully, his olfactory sensor a bit askew but otherwise looking quite tranquil and relaxed. Sunstreaker snorted, shaking his head and looked to the ceiling, hearing Ratchet's voice echoing down the hall before the medic had even gained their door.

"Nuclear Nova indeed," Sunstreaker grinned, before unconsciousness claimed him.

**0000 0000 0000 0000 0000 0000 00000 00000**

Wow… another 'short one'. What's wrong with me? I'm reluctant to do these type of chapters, but apparently they have their own agenda.

Anyhoo, reviews would be loved and even a critique would be welcomed, as long as its constructive and not just bitching.

And any thing in particular you the readers would want to see? Keep in mind, I don't do slash and I'm not much of a smut writer. I giggle too much as I write. Kinda ruins the mood. But, I'd give it a try, if anyone would be interested. It all depends on **you**, the readers.

PJ


	11. Two Sides of the Sun

**Two Sides of the Sun**

**This chapter is dedicated to YOONG, who has been a faithful reviewer. **

**I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I thank you for all your encouragement. I hope this meets your expectations. **

**Requests, comments, criticism and ideas are all appreciated from all readers.**

/ / /\\\\\ \\\\\\\ \\\\\ \\\\\/ /\\\\\\ \\\\

"There!" Sideswipe proclaimed, grabbing Sunstreaker's arm and giving it a shake. "The femme right there! The one with the powder blue paint and optics that could melt titanium."

Sunstreaker gave his brother a disgusted look as he extracted his arm. "Stop grabbing me. You're ruining my finish!"

"Look there!" Sideswipe crooned, finding purchase once again on his twin. "She's right there! Wow, look at those curves. I bet she knows how to treat a mech. If not, I'd volunteer for whatever she had in mind."

"Now you're being crass," Sunstreaker snapped, still trying to wrest his arm from his brother's talon-like grip. He hissed as Sideswipe gave him another shake for attention. "What?"

"See her?" Sideswipe pointed with the hand clutching a faintly glowing cube. "She's right there next to your sculpture of Iacon! You can't miss her."

Sunstreaker easily targeted in on the femme that now held his brother's spark. Problem was, the inept merchant had a habit of making a fool of himself around the opposite sex. Many times Sunstreaker had to hide his face so he wouldn't be associated with the clumsy oaf who had destroyed parties, insulted foreign dignitaries, and accidentally molested the Prime's sparkmate when he over-energized and thought she was sending him 'signals'. Turns out it was just a faulty overhead light that had been highlighting her features at a certain angle. Didn't prevent Sideswipe was stumbling in, slur a horrendous bit of cheap flattery, then paw the gorgeous femme while he tried to kiss her and ended up licking her audio. Sunstreaker considered having himself melted down and used in his own artwork after that. As it was, he rarely allowed his twin to join him during ceremonies and honorable events, but since this was a planet-wide exhibition, he had to share it with his brother.

"Wow," Sideswipe slowly ex-vented, his optics glued to the femme.

Sunstreaker eyed her warily, taking in the tiny form. Probably a messenger by the slim lines and lightness of her frame, and the way her optics darted between milling faces, it was clear she was completely out of her element. Either someone messed up the invitations, or a messenger had gained access to the social elite while they were in their 'safety zone.'

"Colors don't flatter, considering the frame," Sunstreaker said, relinquishing his cube after a second failed attempt at drinking its contents. It was clear, Sideswipe wasn't going to let his brother enjoy himself. Not when he was infatuated with the pretty little femme. It was about time for him to start his usual litany of the perks and pleasant details of the femme who caught his optics.

"Just the perfect height," Sideswipe said slowly, his optics brightening as he no doubt delved into his little fantasy world. His processor created elaborate worlds in which he and his new intended would realize they were perfect for each other, court accordingly, then spend a blissful life together, Sideswipe her ever doting mate. Problem was, fantasy never got close to reality.

"Too short," Sunstreaker said, knowing Sideswipe was lost to his own imagination.

"Lovely shade of blue," Sideswipe sighed, perking up slightly as she seemed to sense his optics. He let out an undignified beep and turned abruptly to his twin, optics wide and fearful. "I think she saw me."

"If you're interested, go talk to her instead of molesting her with your optics," Sunstreaker said, wondering if there was a way he could murder his twin and get away with it. Honestly, Sunstreaker didn't know what Sideswipe's problem was. He never had trouble speaking to a femme, much less convincing them to share his berth. If Sunstreaker put a notch on his berth-post for every conquest, the berth would be so rickety; it'd collapse under his weight.

He wondered if Sideswipe had _any_ notches to his credit. His record with the feminine population wasn't exactly noteworthy, other than when restraining orders and accusations were brought against him. In that department, he outshone his twin.

Sideswipe took a slow draft through his vents and turned back, hoping to put on an air of cultured smoothness. He sputtered when the femme made optic contact. A shy smile appeared as she started toward him, her slender frame jostling between the much larger mechs milling about the gallery.

"She loves me," Sideswipe whispered as she neared. So enraptured, he missed Sunstreaker's annoyed grunt.

Sunstreaker discretely watched her progress, noting the way she held herself, and the small, almost apologetic looks she gave to other patrons.

Much to twins' surprise, she bypassed the golden mech and presented herself to Sideswipe.

"Hello," her voice was soft and warm with a hint of uncertainty.

"Hello," Sideswipe managed to say. His spark was suddenly hammering wildly in its casing. All coherent thought seem to vacate his processor.

The two stood motionless for a moment, staring at each other in awkward silence. Sunstreaker mentally rolled his optics and spoke up.

"I haven't seen you at previous engagements," Sunstreaker said, in a cultured tone so unlike the one he used with his twin. "Is this your first exhibition?"

"Yes," she smiled shyly, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. It made her even more attractive. "Now that I have my final upgrade, I'm permitted to attend the galas."

Final Upgrade? Sunstreaker perked up instantly. Oh, he liked the ones that just upgraded. They were curious about the world, their bodies, physical interactions and were susceptible to _any_ suggestion.

Most beings preferred a partner with experience and know-how in manipulating a partner for mutual satisfaction. Newly upgraded meant the slate was clean, and subsequently, their experience limited to what was learned but never practiced. They were always clumsy, embarrassed, nervous, but easily educated, eager to please, and in Sunstreaker's opinion, the best partners to have.

"Then allow me to welcome you to my exhibit," Sunstreaker said smoothly, brushing his hand across her cheek in an intimate greeting.

Her cheeks flushed further. Her optics brightened with realization. "You're the artist? _You_ created these pieces?"

"I did," Sunstreaker said with a haughty air. "And I only allow the privileged to view and purchase my work." His optics narrowed as his lip curled slightly in a seductive grin. "Or the very attractive, of which my dear, you certainly qualify."

"Yes," Sideswipe managed to say, though with great difficulty.

The femme didn't acknowledge Sideswipe's presence, her gaze now fixed on the artist himself.

As if ashamed of asking such a forward question, she said, "Are you here with anyone?"

"No," Sunstreaker said, his attention focused on the flustered femme.

"He's with me," Sideswipe said, frowning at the way his brother was now eyeing the femme. "I'm his twin."

She didn't seem to notice the red mech anymore. Her gaze was now lingering on the fine lines and detailed manicure that the golden mech wore with a dignified grace. His body shone like the sun. Every angle and cut was perfection. And the heady scent of expensive wax hung about him in a tantalizing aura.

"Allow me to give you a tour," Sunstreaker purred, presenting his arm in gentlemech fashion.

The femme easily slipped her arm into his, her body pressing just a little closer than what was called for.

"Don't you have other, more important guests?" she asked, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. Her attraction was unmistakable.

"No one of importance," Sunstreaker assured her, leading her across the gallery.

Sideswipe stood frozen. Sunstreaker's last words were ringing in his audios. It was bad enough the femme turned her attention to his twin, but to hear his own brother tell the femme that there wasn't anyone of importance, stung straight into the spark.

Head hung, spark twisting in agony, Sideswipe took his leave. If Sunstreaker didn't think he was important, then who was he to disagree?

**000000000 THE NEXT DAY 000000000**

Sunstreaker eased his transport into a slot along the intersection and hopped out, his pedes extra springy today. The powder blue femme from the previous evening had been wonderful in every aspect of the word. Her timidness had quickly evaporated into enthusiasm in the berth and the couple had spent a tiring, yet highly enjoyable evening. A fact Sunstreaker was ready to divulge to his twin, complete with sound recordings. He stepped into the small shop that served as the storefront for the massive business his brother ran.

It started out as a shop for parts, just like any other on the planet, but it grew into the more lucrative business of obtaining hard to find pieces coupled with learning to keep ones vocalizer shut. Blind optics was also useful, and helped to expand the business into other avenues. Rare commodities and items that were usually strictly regulated and confiscated by Customs Officials, were easily slipped through territories without delay. The once tiny enterprise had turned into an empire. Sunstreaker was thrilled because it meant his twin was making his own credits, and had the inside track on artistic goods, which was the reason for his visit.

"Sideswipe!" Sunstreaker called merrily, giving his twin a wave.

Sideswipe glanced to the summons, but quickly turned his attention back to his datapad. His fingers were a blur over the scrolling data, each attesting to numerical transactions.

Sunstreaker went around the counter and draped an arm over his brother's shoulder. "What to guess what I did last night?" he purred, his face twisted into a lecherous sneer. "Or would you rather hear the recordings?"

Sideswipe shrugged his brother off, his hand flying over the screen. "Not now, Sunstreaker. I have work to do."

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you've suddenly became a prude?" Sunstreaker jibed, not deterred in the least. "You've never rejected the opportunity to listen in when your _**phenomenal**_ twin was playing the femmes like a musician."

"Go away," Sideswipe said, turning his back to his brother and highlighting the store inventory.

Thousands of numerical codes dashed across the datapad, but Sideswipe couldn't see them. His fingers stabbed the same sequence over and over, but the data wasn't performing the correct operation. His thoughts were consumed over his brother's betrayal, and his seemingly oblivious knowledge of the fact.

Sunstreaker wrapped his arms around his brother, resting his chin on Sideswipe's shoulder. He whispered in his audio, "Do you want to hear the sounds that cute little blue femme makes when she overloads?"

The words were enough to send Sideswipe into action. He threw the datapad on the desk, shattering its screen and sending the glass fragments into flight. He rounded on his brother and without thought, punched him as hard as he could right in the smug faceplates.

Sunstreaker howled, falling backward, clutching his face. His protectiveness reared when blows started to rain down on his head and shoulders, and a knee found its way into his midsection. He pushed back, knocking his brother away and regained his senses.

"What the slag was that all about?" Sunstreaker demanded.

"You… you're just…." Sideswipe panted, glaring at his twin with so much hatred, it made Sunstreaker take a subconscious step back. "Vile. Vicious. Loathsome… evil…."

"Whoa!" Sunstreaker yelled, hoping to quell Sideswipe. "What's gotten into you?"

"You knew I liked that femme!" Sideswipe spat, his plating near melting from the intense heat radiating off him in angered waves. "She was interested in me, and then you stepped in and took her away!"

"Oh, please," Sunstreaker scoffed, rubbing his sore jaw and olfactory sensor. "You just stood there like a mindless drone. She only looked at me when she found out I was famous!"

"You didn't even _try_ to deflect her attention. You focused sorely on yourself!" Sideswipe snapped, his energon threatening to boil in his lines. Suddenly Sideswipe seemed to deflate, all fight leaving him in a heavy whoosh as he turned from his brother. His voice was so soft, Sunstreaker could barely hear it. "I liked her, and she could have liked me to."

Sunstreaker hated the defeat that laced his brother's voice. He opened the bond he shared with his twin, something the two rarely indulged in now that they were adults. When they were children, the bond was their place of safety and warmth, and all encompassing welcoming peace. But when they upgraded to their adult frames, they grew apart. Constant comfort wasn't needed, nor sought after. They had lives to live and different callings. Sunstreaker wasn't surprised when there was no answer to his spark call. He crossed the short distance between them and wrapped his arms around his brother.

"Tell me," Sunstreaker said, not liking the unresponsiveness of his twin. When Sideswipe shook his head negatively, Sunstreaker spun him around, grasping his shoulders and forcing him to make optic contact. "Tell me."

"No," Sideswipe muttered, lowering his gaze to the floor once more. "If you don't already know, then it's pointless to say."

"Then show me," Sunstreaker demanded, his chest splitting apart to reveal the silver cylinder that housed his spark.

Sideswipe looked sadly to the small chamber, a part of him wistful of times past. But that was long ago. Children, who needed each other so the demons would be kept at bay. But now, well into adulthood, the gesture seemed hollow. He placed his hands on the warm golden chassis and forcefully pressed the plates together. They returned to normal configuration, hiding the chamber within.

"No," Sideswipe repeated and pushed his brother away.

Sunstreaker refused to give up his hold on his brother. He tightened his grip and said, "I don't know why you're acting this way. You've been attracted to hundreds of femmes and never cared if I berthed them," his expressed grew devious, "I always share the recordings with you."

"Go," Sideswipe said, nodding toward the door. When Sunstreaker made no attempt to move, Sideswipe roughly grabbed him and spun him toward the door. "I said go!"

Sunstreaker dug in his pedes, refusing to be moved. He nearly overbalanced when Sideswipe let him go, taking a step away from his twin.

"How could you?" Sideswipe whispered, before turning on his heel and disappearing into the back rooms.

Sunstreaker made to follow, but his brother had hit the door locks. There was no way to force entry. Sighing, he called through the door, "Whatever it is, I'm sorry. Okay? You know me. My ego is as inflated as a Guardian." When no answer was forthcoming, Sunstreaker pressed on, "Sideswipe, you know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. If you really wanted the femme, you should have told me. Surely you can't blame me for being charming. It's what I do!"

After a moment, he gave a resigned sigh. "Have it your way."

He took his leave, finding his steps to be heavier than normal. Pulling up the memory files from the previous night, Sunstreaker began combing through the evening, searching for anything that had caused his brother to be so upset. He slipped into his private transport, his mind buzzing with the events that caused the rift between him and the only person in the universe he'd sacrifice himself for.

Several examinations later, Sunstreaker gave up. He tried watching the whole evening with visual and auditory playback, first with sound, then without. Nothing raised the proverbial red flag.

He tried to open his side of the bond, hoping Sideswipe would feel his presence and open up to him, but the bond stayed cold and void. A part of him wept for its passing.

Alone and confused, Sunstreaker did the only thing he knew how. He painted. Giant murals soon filled his studio, and he was often heard screaming and throwing paint containers around. Trying to assuage the numbness taking over his spark, he sent daily gifts to his twin, each with a message of forgiveness and apology and promise it wouldn't happen again. And every evening, when the city set to slumber, Sunstreaker would collapse on his easel, wishing his pain would end. Some evenings he'd writhe on the canvas, completely absorbed by the hollowness in his spark and unable to ease the pain.

After a month of tortured nights and endless days, Sunstreaker made a decision and he was going to see it through, even if it killed him. So as evening fell and merchants were starting to close shop for the night, Sunstreaker entered Sideswipe's establishment. No one was at the counter, so he went to the door, which was left partially opened. He placed his hand on the metal, ready to announce his arrival, when he heard voices.

"So, you coming tonight?" a mech asked.

"Yes," Sideswipe said without hesitancy.

"It's going to be quite the spectacle," the mech said, his voice taking on a taunting lilt. "Epic, from what they're saying."

"I'll be there," Sideswipe said, and Sunstreaker noticed there was a listless tone to his voice.

"Alright, see you then," the mech called, opening the door. He took half a step before narrowing his gaze at Sunstreaker. "Who are you?"

"Sideswipe's brother," he answered defensively. There was something about this dark green and brown mech that he most definitely **didn't** like.

"Listening in at doors will get you into trouble, or hasn't anyone explained that to you?" he asked, his voice dripping in menace.

Sunstreaker instantly riled, glaring down this sub-class mech who dared to challenge him. He could buy and sell this mech many times over. Apparently he didn't understand he was outclassed.

"I was looking for Sideswipe," he said in a low growl. "I suggest you watch your vocalizer, before it's given to you on a serving tray."

The mech made a gruff noise but didn't answer. He cast one last look to Sideswipe, gave a clipped nod, then took his leave, lumbering past the golden mech and making a show of his more aggressive bulk. When the door chimed at his departure, Sideswipe acknowledged his brother.

"I don't want to see you," he said, every intention of putting as much distance as possible between them.

"Well tough," Sunstreaker said, stepping forward and blocking his brother's path. "I need to see you. It's important."

"Oh?" Sideswipe asked, a hint of intrigue flaring in his optics. "What's so important that you would deface yourself by being in my presence?"

The words had their desired effect. Sunstreaker flinched as if struck. When he spoke, his voice was harsh and raspy, "I've been an aft and I want to apologize for my actions." When Sideswipe made to move away, Sunstreaker grabbed his arms and held him immobile before continuing, "I've been in pain, and I know it's because I hurt you."

"Knew it would be about yourself," Sideswipe spat, trying to get free from his twin.

The pain in Sunstreaker's chest flared brand new, and with renewed strength he hurtled his twin to the ground, pinning him into place. If he was stubborn enough to not want to listen, then Sunstreaker was going to slagging well make him, gently or not! This had to end!

"I know the pain I feel is from you," Sunstreaker snarled, not relinquishing his hold on Sideswipe. "The bond may be closed, but your pain is leaking through. Now, I don't know what has you so angry at me, but you're slagging well going to tell me, even if I have to wring it out of you."

The impact to the floor had temporarily dazed Sideswipe, but once his systems realigned; he tried to wrench his brother from his perch. They tumbled, rolling over each other, both trying to gain the upper hand until Sunstreaker employed a dirty trick and maneuvered his twin onto his back. Sunstreaker straddled his brother, his knees initiating magnetic locks to the floor as his hands clamped like vices over Sideswipe's wrists, effectively pinning his twin into place.

He pressed their chests together, knowing their sparks would recognize each other. He sent a strong pulse through his spark, calling desperately to the other half that was mere inches away. Though both were adults and their sparks were considered mature, there would always be a pull to one another, like opposite poles needing contact.

Sideswipe remained steadfastly stubborn, ignoring the pain that raced along his neural net. He was determined to let his brother suffer, as he had suffered.

Sunstreaker didn't wait for a response. He placed his forehead against his brother's, his grip loosening. His voice took on a sorrowful plea that went straight into Sideswipe's spark.

"I feel so… empty. There's this darkness that keeps growing and lashing out, searching for something that's no longer there." Sunstreaker opened his optics, staring into the familiar blue of his twin. "It's like something has removed you and it will keep going until it consumes me." Sunstreaker closed his optics, a choked sob escaping. "Don't leave me. I couldn't bear it if I lost you."

Sideswipe gently nudged the bond and instantly felt the flood of emotions coming from his twin. Without thought both chests split, the chambers retracting to allow two halves to become a whole. Sunstreaker collapsed on top of his twin, allowing their bond to reaffirm, their sparks to realign, and emotions to filter.

Sunstreaker gasped as the hurt and pain assaulted his senses. He immediately began searching his twin's memories, trying to find the source of the strife, and felt his spark falter.

"_Don't you have other, more important guests?" she asked, the light highlighting her beautiful face. _

"_No one of importance," Sunstreaker answered, his attention sorely focused on the small femme._

Unimportant?

Sunstreaker felt his spark wither. The pain and loneliness assaulted his senses again, causing him to cry out. A pang of loss and worthlessness overwhelmed him. He clutched at Sideswipe, his fingers leaving small indentations.

Spark ache, isolation, desperation, separation, all came crashing together in a cataclysmic burst. Two brilliant super novas expanded, wrapping around each other in protection and love. A cosmic embrace that only twins can share. Their separation unfathomable, as two lives pulsed in unison, their strength magnified by the other.

When they pulled away, Sunstreaker collapsed next to Sideswipe, his spark humming the beautiful symphony of life that he shared with his twin. It had been a very long time since it carried that song, and it was a shame the melody had been lost for so long.

"You are the most important thing in my life," Sunstreaker managed to say, though with the bond now open to its fullest extent, words weren't necessary. "Never forget that."

"Never," Sideswipe muttered, finding his own spark song to be singing through his lines in a way that hadn't been felt for so long, it was like coming home.

"Always together?" Sunstreaker asked, though he already knew the answer.

Sideswipe laced his fingers with his twins, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "Always. Never alone. Never divided."

The two lay for a long time, listening to the dual song that filled their being. For the first time in a long time, both felt a sense of peace and belonging. Their tranquility was broken when Sideswipe gave a startled beep and scrambled off the floor.

"What?" Sunstreaker asked, a sluggish haze consuming him.

"I have to go," Sideswipe said, checking the chronometer on the wall and cross checking it with his own internal system. He was running two minutes fast. "I was going to meet someone this evening."

"Oh, my brother finally found a femme?" Sunstreaker jibed, but sent a pulse of adoration through their bond.

"No, actually it's a mech," Sideswipe said, grabbing his discarded datapad and checking on his accounts one last time.

"Didn't think you revved like that," Sunstreaker said, pulling himself to his pedes.

"No, it's not like that," Sideswipe said, checking his credits and estimating a safety cushion needed to keep his books balanced. The rest of the credits transferred into a private account, which had been rather lucrative until his recent activities. Now, it dwindled by each passing cycle. "He took me to this secret meeting place, in Kaon, and you wouldn't believe what they do there."

Sunstreaker's interest piqued, his optics glancing to the screen and noting his twin had a smaller balance than what he remembered. Choosing to ignore it, he asked, "Organic target practicing? Seen it before. Not really my style. Too messy."

"No," Sideswipe said, not liking the meager credits he had to deal with. He better be on the winning side soon, else he'd have to start using his company funds. "They host gladiatorial matches."

"As in… fights?" Sunstreaker asked with a frown. He had heard of such things going on in the underground world of illicit activities. It was something he didn't agree with and avoided at all costs. Those types of endeavors usually ended at the smelters.

"They have different kinds of fighters," Sideswipe was saying, his processor buzzing as he tried to figure out how to get just a few more credits to plump up his account. "There's different levels of fighting, weapons, and on the rare occasion, even death matches. But I haven't been to any of those." He looked to his twin with a strange glint in his optics. "Yet."

Sunstreaker felt the excitement crash into his spark and mind that nearly blinded him to all reality. He gasped, feeling the sensations trickling through from his brother, and if the sudden flare of burning excitement was any indication, the illegal fights were something to behold. He grabbed his brother's datapad and hastily typed, before returning it with a wicked grin to match his twin.

Sideswipe let out a bark of surprise when he noted his brother had transferred a hefty sum to his account. He was about to protest, when Sunstreaker linked their arms, directing him to the street.

"Shall we investigate these matches?" Sunstreaker asked casually, his excitement starting to mount with the building anticipation coming from his twin.

"Oh, yes," Sideswipe smiled, locking his business and blindly following fate's crooked finger. "I have a feeling our fortunes are going to change."

"One can only hope," Sunstreaker said, unaware of the dark shadow that fell across the two as they were swallowed by the underworld.

/ / / / / / / / /

There's probably tons of stories relating to how the twins got involved with the gladiatorial circuit, but this is just my take on it. Besides, it's not really focused on THAT aspect of their lives. It's more of the **'Sunny screwed up, Sides is hurt, Sunny apologizes". **But we all know how incredibly humble Sunstreaker is…..(rolls eyes)

You just KNOW he'll do anything to berth a femme. Even if he doesn't like them, he'd do it just so 'they' can claim bragging rights that he was their best lay.

Ego much, Sunny?

Anyway, Reviews are welcomed and used as fuel for the muse.


	12. Fun On the Side

**Fun On the Side**

**Rated : T **

-00000-00000-00000-00000-00000-

"I have an idea."

"You always have ideas. It's the execution that needs work."

"Spoiler," Sideswipe sneered, his fingers a blur on the keyboard at one of Tele-Tran's disused consoles.

"What are you planning, anyway?" Sunstreaker asked, scooting his chair closer to observe the multitude of machine codes flying across the screen. Sunstreaker suppressed an impressed whistle. If any of the Command personnel knew Sideswipe's particular gift with machine codes and reprogramming, they'd either employ him full time or have him locked away with full surveillance. In essence, he was just that good. It was scary really. Sunstreaker felt a shiver along his struts.

"Just a minor reprogramming," Sideswipe said, his attention locked onto the screen and the jumble of codes that seemed to bend to his will. It was a rather disgusting trait. One that many would kill for.

"Not another prank," Sunstreaker groaned, his optics darting to the main consol where Jazz was speaking to Hound and Bumblebee about a recent scouting report.

"Not just another prank, but the prank to end all pranks," Sideswipe grinned at his own cleverness. The golden glow from the screen cast his features into a molten shadow.

"You've said that before and ended up with your aft in the brig," Sunstreaker reminded his twin, watching as the colorscape flickered like a guttering candle. He took several mental photos, fully intent on painting his brother at his most beautiful, and most devilish. Funny how the two coincided.

"This time is different," Sideswipe allowed a small frown to appear before it disappeared when the codes performed a complex restructuring with very little urging from their programmer.

"Heard that before."

"No, really. This time, I know exactly who I'm going to prank."

"Oh, figured out the random stuff doesn't really work, huh?"

"Well, no. I still think I just need to perfect a few variables and then my plans should go down as I originally designed them."

"Now you sound like Prowl."

"He doesn't have a sense of humor, remember. Probably couldn't plan a prank if his life depended on it," Sideswipe mused, starting the sequence that would hide his metaphorical tracks in the programming scheme. "But this time, I think I have the perfect plan."

"Won't work," Sunstreaker singsonged, glancing over to the door as Prime and Prowl entered, both in deep discussion over a datapad Prowl was holding. "It's too soon after

the last one. Everyone will be expecting something. Their guard will be up. You won't be able to get a victim so easily."

"Who said anything about setting the trap on the Ark?" Sideswipe asked, finally pulling his gaze away from the screen and giving his brother his most demonic glint. "No one will see it coming."

Sunstreaker felt a deathly chill creep into his struts and settle in his soul at the words. The computer program finished covering Sideswipe's tracks, and with a beep, presented a loaded data track. As the small metal disk disappeared into his twin's subspace, Sunstreaker added, "As long as I'm not a victim, I don't care."

"Don't worry, my dear brother. If my calibrations are correct, you'll get a front row seat at the best show in the universe."

"Primus help me!" Sunstreaker squeaked.

**00 00 00 ONE MONTH LATER 00 00 00**

"One more second," Sideswipe muttered, his face screwed up in utmost concentration. "Just a little bit longer…"

"Hurry up!" Sunstreaker hissed like an angry tom cat, his audio receptors attuned so high, his head was pounding from the extra stimuli.

"Got it!" Sideswipe grinned as a door slid open to reveal the rooms beyond. "Starscream's codes aren't so hard to break. Pompous jet uses his own measurements as the access code."

"And how would you know any of his dimensions?" Sunstreaker asked, following his brother inside, returning his audio range to normal now that he didn't have to act as lookout.

"You notice things," Sideswipe shrugged, missing his brother's dubious glare. He focused his attention to the main room that housed a collection of assorted air frame paraphernalia. Three doors lead off from the main room, and deciding to start on the right, Sideswipe entered the first door.

Sunstreaker followed his brother inside and couldn't stop the startled gasp that escaped.

The walls were covered in schematics, alternate frame designs, and a rather risqué collection of holo-images. It wasn't uncommon to find images of scantily clad or sultry posed femmes on the walls of a mechs personal quarters. It was uncommon however to have pictures of yourself in exactly the same poses. Every picture that showcased a femme, was paired with a counterpart that starred Starscream. Some of them featured the Air Commander in his youth, his coy expressions, smaller frame, and barely noticeable growth seams all attesting to his naivety and a gentler, carefree nature. The twins wondered who had taken the images.

"I'll get this room, you find the one that belongs to the stupid one," Sideswipe said, nodding toward the door. He had been waiting patiently, an oddity in itself, for this very opportunity. After minimal attacks and minor skirmishes, the Autobots had decided to wreck a little havoc on their enemies, and attack their base. It didn't happen often, but it usually kept the Decepticons quiet for some time while they repaired and recovered.

Sunstreaker pulled his optics away from the images, wondering how in the world his twin talked him into this suicide mission. He stored a few images in his memory files for later fodder and exited, checking out the second room. Orderly, minimalist, and functional. Couldn't be Skywarp's. Sunstreaker ventured to the third room and grinned, finding the room to be packed with so much Earth junk it looked more like the twin's own quarters than a recharging berth of the Decepticon elite. Sunstreaker ventured inside, falling over a lawnmower, gouging his hand with a BBQ grill and having an exercise ball explode when he accidentally placed his weight on it. Grumbling he struggled through the room to the recharge berth, wondering how the very large and extremely broad wing spanned seeker could rest with such clutter. There was barely enough room for Sunstreaker to sit down!

He ignored the stolen war memorial staring accusingly at him from the edge of the berth as he set to work, growling oaths under his breathing function about the stupidity of his twin and how insane the whole scenario was. Especially when the prank was going to backfire and like most of Sideswipe's ideas, give others enough fodder against the duo to last a very long time. He also cursed his brother for taking the easy room, while he was left to fend off a strange occurrence of bats that decided they didn't like being disturbed from their nest in the ventilation shaft. Wondering if he was susceptible to rabies, Sunstreaker reluctantly completed his task, though with great difficulty. If anyone found out about this, he was sure he'd either get a special accommodation for bravely performing under such dire and strenuous situation. Or he could get a rather lengthy assignment to the brig and thousands of hours of mental evaluation from every psychiatric specialist in the combined galaxies.

Objective complete he exited, greeting Sideswipe who gave a curt nod and disappeared into Thundercracker's quarters. After a minute, he returned, giving his twin the thumbs up and both exited the rooms, making sure to draw attention to themselves. Ramjet and Ravage were closest and gave chase, the twins jeering at their enemies and laughing about being interrupted before the real fun began. No one paid them any heed, until two hours a_fter_ the battle.

A few mechs were in the med bay affecting repairs, when the security alarms went ballistic. All able bodied mechs dashed outside to protect their home, and meet the enraged form of Starscream. The Air Commander was standing on the crest of the hill overlooking the Ark, his two trinemates flanking him. Both looked angry and disgusted, though Skywarp ruined the full effect by occasionally letting an amused smile escape.

"You… You…." Starscream sputtered when the twins emerged with their comrades, weapons appearing from subspace. "You disgusting… grotesque… evil…"

"Hello Kettle, glad you called!" Sideswipe yelled, his gun not even pointing at the flyers. He had a feeling he knew what this was about. And he was thrilled to the circuits.

"Prime!" Starscream thundered to the red mech stationed at the front of the assembly. "I demand that you punish those two….. those two…." His vents heaved with emotion, his finger pointing at the accused, and extremely guilty, parties. "Sickened, warped," (Skywarp made an indignant noise but it was ignored) "childish sociopathic twins of yours," Starscream fumed, his rage making his voice go even higher than normal.

"What have they done this time?" Prime asked, though he doubted any theory Starscream could imagine.

"They violated our quarters," Starscream snapped, his voice teetering on the ultra high frequency.

"Well, not all of it," Sideswipe commented, giving the enraged seeker a saddened look. "We were interrupted before doing a thorough job."

Starscream's voice hit the high note, and everyone, including his trinemates, had to cover their audios. After nearly five minutes of fluent supersonic cursing, Starscream calmed down, his body shaking from exertion. His vents heaved, causing a shimmer to appear around him in a ghostly mirage.

"Do something, Prime!" Starscream rasped, his voice now raw from the abuse.

"They violated your quarters?" Prime asked, his audios ringing slightly from the verbal assault. He made a mental note to not remind the seeker of his unknown ability to immobilize with his voice. Soundwave was bad enough. "How precisely did they do that?"

"They…. They…" Starscream sputtered, apparently unable to voice his grievance. Skywarp disappeared in a violet shimmer, causing the Autobots to go on the defensive in case the black jet was attempting an attack. It was Thundercracker who took up the explanation for his apparently voiceless leader.

"They broke into our quarters and overloaded on our recharge berths," he said, trying to fight down the urge to purge his tanks at the thought or laugh at the looks on the Autobots faces. "Well, on Starscream's and Skywarp's."

"We would have gotten yours too, but Ramjet interrupted us," Sideswipe called, looking a little pouty.

Ironhide looked to the two frontliners, his face a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "You did what?"

"Oh come on, like you never thought about it," Sideswipe grinned. "Enemy camp and the thought of getting caught. Who could resist?"

"I could," all the Autobots chimed in unison. Most looked disgusted, but there were a few who allowed amused grins to slip out.

With a sudden flash of purple, Skywarp appeared and tossed two crumpled clumps of metal at Prime's feet before disappearing and shimmering in a purple haze at Starscream's left side. Both seekers were now dark and foreboding, glaring at the two trespassers below.

Everyone's attention was drawn to Skywarp's present and a couple of electric snorts erupted before they could be stopped. Jazz started snickering, earning an irate glare from three seekers, who failed to see the humor in the situation. Prime opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to think of what would be appropriate for the situation and Prowl keeled over in a complete meltdown. Two sparks danced along the Second's forehead before disappearing.

Finally, after pretending to be a fish for a moment, Prime directed his attention to the seekers. "You have my word that the twins will be dealt with. And I will have new berths constructed as restitution for this offense."

"Don't bother!" Skywarp hissed. "Who knows what those fiends will do when you're not looking!"

Sideswipe adopted a lecherous grin. "You know, the war has been long and it's **very** lonely here on Earth."

Sunstreaker continued to scowl, his delight being filtered through to his twin, who could display it in open amusement. If Sunstreaker let his true feelings manifest, it would ruin the effect and Sideswipe's true intentions would be revealed. It was best to remain quiet, in the background, unobserved. When the second phase initiated, it was going to be quite the spectacular, and for once, Sunstreaker had a feeling it was going to work out. The Cons were unsuspecting, the Bots were just as clueless, and since all parties believed the true transgression was over, everyone's expectations would be low. He couldn't help the tingle of anticipation that flooded the bond, and barely surpressing a snicker as Sideswipe smiled in his devilishly, wicked way.

Primus, Sideswipe was beautiful when he was his most dangerous.

"They….. they're….." Starscream sputtered, still having difficulty in forming complex sentences.

"They will be dealt with, you have my word," Prime promised, giving the culprits a scathing look.

Starscream shook his fist, giving the twins a hellish glare. "You violate our quarters again and I'll personally dismantle you and distribute your parts across the galaxy!"

"You'll have assistance," Ratchet yelled to the seekers, his glare fixed on the twins. "Their actions are a disgrace and completely inappropriate and they **will **be schooled in proper etiquette and hygienic practices."

"Don't really need the schooling, Ratch," Sideswipe smiled, unaffected by the CMO's murderous glare. "I think we did well, considering it was during a battle and we were able to perform to, as I don't mind bragging on our abilities, to a **very** satisfactory outcome."

Sunstreaker sent a burst of pleasure to his twin, which only increased his depraved look.

"You'll pay for this….. indecency," Starscream snarled, before transforming and taking to the air. Thundercracker and Skywarp followed, both casting dirty looks to the Autobots below.

"Anyone else find this rather ironic?" Sideswipe asked with a smile, turning to his comrades. His mirth faded at the murderous and incredulous looks he was receiving.

Ratchet stalked to the still sparking Prowl and started the long process of rebooting the tactician. He growled oaths under his breath as he worked. Prowl twitched in time with his words.

Prime stood agape, unable to comprehend the situation. Some things just weren't covered in his training to become Prime. Randy soldiers performing questionable deeds seemed to be missed in the learning of the Matrix. He felt a strange burning in his processor, possibly from trying to purge the mental pictures that permeated his CPU since the seekers explained the situation.

Jazz seemed to be the only one to have kept his senses. He looked to Prowl, who was still unconscious and pointed toward the Ark. "Brig," he hissed, not daring to look at the twins.

Truth be told, if they locked optics, he'd lose his cool and start laughing. But being a Commanding Officer, he couldn't afford to lose his authority in front of the soldiers, so as Prowl twitched on the ground, Prime apparently frozen in confusion, it fell upon the next in line to return order.

Sideswipe let out a giggle before marching to the familiar cell that practically had his name engraved on its control panel. Sunstreaker stalked to the adjacent cell, staring with feigned murderous intent to his twin. He should have known he'd end up in the brig.

When the duo was locked in their cell, Sideswipe called across the hall, "This is going to be brilliant."

"Shut up," Sunstreaker muttered, unable to completely block the enjoyment he was feeling with his part in the prank.

"You just know they're thinking the worst is over," Sideswipe continued, laying on the berth and tucking his arms behind his head. He smiled up at the ceiling, tracing over the burns and gouges he'd made in previous visitations. "Just wait. It's going to be grand."

Sunstreaker allowed a laugh, relaxing on his own berth. "I can't wait."

"Megatron won't know what hit him," Sideswipe snickered, glancing across the hall to his twin. "We could end this war."

"And all it took was a bit of reprogramming, exceptionally **talented** soldiers performing under stressful conditions, and an enemy who despise each other," Sunstreaker counted off on his fingers. He shared a look with his twin and both erupted in laughter.

Two weeks later the twins were allowed to leave the brig, though both had to attend therapy sessions with Smokescreen twice a day. The Diversion expert protested, but lost his vehemence when Prowl promised an archaic form of Praxian punishment that had the other Datsun tucking tailpipe and accepting the unwanted assignment.

Ratchet violently lectured on proper conduct, deviant sexual behavior, the dangerous associated with such behavior, and a rather lengthy discussion on why it's a bad idea to fritz out a commanding officer. That lecture was punctuated with a lot of steel and iron and many dents were gloriously displayed. Prowl added to the lecture and made it quite clear that the twins were going to be doing **a lot** of double duty and maintenance shifts.

Prime's lecture wasn't as bad. In fact, he didn't lecture them at all. As soon as the twins entered his office, brilliant smiles in place, Prime burst out laughing so hard he had to lean against his desk for support. Apparently the stoic leader had seen the humor in the situation, after the shock wore off, and remembering his own youth, couldn't bring himself to add to their punishment detail. After a hearty round of laughter, and detailed descriptions of the seeker's quarters, to which Sunstreaker provided ample pictures, the twins were excused to resume the duty schedule Prowl had provided. They're only command from their esteemed leader was that they were to promise never to pull such a stunt again. It was risky to leave their teammates and engage in other, _questionable_ activities while others were in danger. The twins had the decency to look ashamed of themselves, but Prime quickly returned the topic of Seeker obsessions.

So as Sideswipe departed for his twelve hour patrol, Sunstreaker took his place at the 'boredom monitor'. Jazz stopped by Sunstreaker's station, muttering a, "That was awesome," before leaving the golden warrior to his tedious task. The two soon fell into the monotonous schedule that Prowl had constructed, and by the end of the second day, both were ready to kill.

Sunstreaker destroyed a consol by smashing his forehead into it. Sideswipe drove Ironhide off the road and into a sign. Sunstreaker raced along streets at breakneck speed and added a record setting twenty-six tickets to the Autobot credit. A malfunctioning energon dispenser had a beautiful hole ripped into it curtsey of Sideswipe, who threw the sparking circuits across the room and ignited Wheeljack's schematics.

On the third day, the Autobots were considering dismantling the two and selling their parts. As Gears removed himself from the bulkhead for the fourth time that day, he heard Windcharger shouting obscenities that would make Ratchet grab a pen and take notes. Vowing retribution to a certain Lamborghini pair, Gears made it two steps when the alarms sounded. Sunstreaker came hurtling around the corner, knocking the minibot against the wall and disappearing down the hall without any apology.

"Decepticons are attacking a power plant in Portland," Prime called, taking the lead. "Autobots, transform and roll out!"

As one unit they moved, the twins taking their point position and feeling a nagging itch in their circuits.

"Could this be the day?" Sunstreaker asked as the Conehead jets came into view.

"Should be," Sideswipe answered, receiving the structured battle plan Prowl had sent out. "It's had plenty of time to simmer."

The battle started like it normally did, all the mechs standing around, arguing, insulting and having a lubricating contest. Prime and Megatron were in good form with their verbal sparing, making their troops eager for potential bloodshed. Then, as the tension mounted and the insults started to lull, Sideswipe let out a jeer.

"Well, what do you know?" he called to the assembled Cons, his focus on the Command Trine. "Three wise guys!"

"Sor-tinly!" Starscream snapped, his face going lax in confusion.

Megatron looked toward his Air Commander, his brow drawn down in anger.

"What did you say?" he growled, his fist curling at his side. He turned slowly to his Second, and when Starscream seemed to be locked in a daze, he stepped in front of the tri-colored seeker. "Are you defective in the processor?"

Starscream took on a dark scowl, and suddenly growing a set of cast iron ball bearings, he hauled off and slapped the white warlord on the forehead, making him stagger from the unexpected impact. Before any one could react, Starscream snarled, "Spread out!"

Thundercracker stepped forward, glaring at Starscream. A voice quite unlike his own natural baritone erupted from his vocalizer, "Hey, why you picking on him?"

"Stay out of this!" Starscream growled, giving Thundercracker a slap worthy of any diva.

A strange whooping noise came out of Skywarp and without warning, the purple seeker rammed his head into Starscream's midsection, nearly bowling him over. Skywarp overcompensated and went careening sideways before regaining his equilibrium and jumped at the Air Commander. Megatron went flying from the tussling pair, Thundercracker sidestepping his leader and giving Starscream a hit to the jaw as he wrestled with Skywarp. As the three bickered and blows were exchanged, Megatron stormed in, throwing Thundercracker to the ground in a painful heap, and knocking Skywarp askew into the Coneheads, who stood paralyzed at the scene.

"What is the meaning of this madness?" Megatron demanded, his body radiating hatred in a boiling shimmer.

Starscream took a step back, and without warning, poked Megatron in the optics with two fingers. Megatron snarled obscenities, grabbing his face as he bumped into Thundercracker. Starscream's hand came down in a beautiful arc, slapping the back of Megatron's head with a resounding clash of metal on metal. Megatron bent, trying to comprehend the insanity that had taken over his command trine, unknowingly presenting a perfect target.

"Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk," Skywarp crooned, giving Megatron's aft a look before drawing back his leg and landing a swift kick on the warlord's aft. Megatron went sprawling to the ground, a building tornado of fury. Skywarp performed a strange little dance and took to the air, whooping out a noise that had his teammates staring in abject wonder.

"Soundwave, I think now would be a good time to call a retreat," Sideswipe called, pointing to the stumbling Megatron who had a nice black imprint on his aft.

Skywarp circled on his wingtip, spinning like a top in midair. "Whooo Whoooo Whoooo Whooo Whoooo," Skywarp called, then spiraled outward in a dizzying pattern. He was soon joined by Wildrider, both filling the skies with a cacophony of 'Whooo's" and "Nyuk's". Motormaster started yelling for his wayward teammate to return to his side.

If the Decepticon Third in Command needed any further incentive, Starscream came stalking toward him.

"Oh, a wise guy huh?" Starscream growled, pretending to slide a sleeve up his arm. "Why I oughta…"

Starscream extended two fingers and jabbed at Soundwave's optics, but the telepath was too fast for him. Starscream made a noise of discontent when Soundwave evaded him, but the Third wasn't so lucky the second time. Starscream extended both forefingers and rammed them unceremoniously into Soundwave's face knocking his visor askew.

Megatron pushed Soundwave out of his way and stared off against his insane Air Commander. "You will pay for this treachery!"

Just as Megatron leveled his cannon at an apparently unimpressed Starscream, the seeker's face darkened and out of no where, his fist connected with the top of Megatron's head. His other fist slammed into Megatron's jaw. Strangely both impacts produced a hollow coconut sound, before Starscream's knee came up and buried itself into the warlord's chest.

"I oughta murderlize you," Starscream growled before his hand came down on Megatron's exposed neck.

Megatron went sprawling for the third time, his equilibrium circuits immobilized. A string of curses from across the galaxy came belching from his mouth as he tried to stabilize himself for retaliation. But the seeker had impacted the right circuits at exactly the right angle, causing the Decepticon leader to pitch like a drunkard as he tried to regain his feet.

The Autobots stood frozen in place. The Decepticons pretended to be statues, aside from Motormaster who was still trying to get Wildrider away from Skywarp, while Thundercracker wove between them and trying to slap Skywarp's wing with his own.

"Decepticons: Retreat," Soundwave called, and for the first time in both armies collected memory banks, the unemotional Third sounded quite scared. He grabbed Megatron's arms and took to the skies, the other Decepticons breaking their spell and following suit.

Starscream seemed completely oblivious to the retreat, turning his attention to the Autobot leader. Everyone expected a string of curses or colorful metaphors, but was surprised when the screechy leader placed his hands on his hips and gave a disbelieving scowl to Prime.

"You did it this time, Wise Guy," Starscream rebuked, giving his most hated enemy a disapproving nod.

"You better follow them," Sideswipe said, pointing to the distant Cons.

Starscream adopted a supercilious look and scoffed, "Idiots would be lost without me." And with a long suffering sigh he took to the skies and disappeared after his teammates. When the Decepticons were a dot on the horizon, the spell on the Autobots broke.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchanged a look that instantly dissolved into hysterical laughter. They grasped each other and slid to the ground, their vents wheezing with the effort to control their mirth.

It was Ironhide who stormed toward the pair and snarled, "What the slag was that all about?"

Sideswipe looked to Sunstreaker, and with an electronic burst of static, Sunstreaker collapsed to the ground and laughed so hard his vents ached. It took all of Sideswipe's power to formulate an answer.

"Remember when we overloaded on Starscream and Skywarp's recharge berths?" he asked, finding it difficult to suck air in through his vents.

Several of the Autobots snorted, but quickly stifled the noise as to not irritate the ones that doled out the punishment detail. Prime let the noise slip, but Prowl narrowed his optics at the culprits. Jazz merely smirked and Ironhide looked ready to short circuit.

"What does that have to do with Starscream losing his processor?" Ratchet asked, pushing his way through the troops that had collected around the two laughing Lamborghinis.

"I created a program that could rewrite their personalities," Sideswipe gasped, clutching his midsection. "Problem was, the program was so complicated, it could only be uploaded to **one** recharge station. Less chance of it being detected."

"So we… we made sure that ….there was only ….one recharge berth for the seekers," Sunstreaker added, giving up the fight against his laughter. Little electronic snickers escaped and caused his voice to hitch and skip.

"All three used the infected station, that coded the new sequence into their systems one recharge at a time," Sideswipe continued, noticing several of the Autobot forces were starting, and failing, to suppress their laughter. "I figured the program had time to do its work, then I said the command, and the system started to reboot their personalities."

"So the reason why you ignored a battle and overloaded on the seekers' berths, was that you needed to install a program so you play….. a prank?" Ironhide asked incredulously. Some things were just beyond his capabilities to understand.

In fact, no one could understand the length Sideswipe would go to for a prank.

"Well, they weren't expecting anything," Sunstreaker said, finally able to speak as he rubbed his midsection.

"And it's going to take a long time for them to find and eliminate my program," Sideswipe added with a shrug. "So we should be Decepticon free for some time."

Sunstreaker glanced from his brother to Prime. "So it's a win-win." His optics darted to Prowl, who had frozen with a shocked expression on his face. "We didn't prank an Autobot and no one got hurt. Well, Megatron got bitch-slapped, but let's face it, he deserves it."

Sideswipe looked at Prowl, feeling his tanks churn at the thought of having to spend another month in the brig. That punishment would be preferable though, compared to what Ratchet had in store for him if he locked up their Second In Command again.

"Surely you can't punish us for this! Right?" Sideswipe asked, looking for the telltale signs of Prowl spazzing out.

Thankfully, Prowl had only been assessing the situation and running scenarios. His battle computer burned slightly, but he guessed it was from the vast amounts of deviant behavior he had to add to his calculations. Some things a mech just couldn't scrub out of their processor, no matter how much they tried.

When he noticed everyone looking at him, he replayed the last minute of conversation. With a snarl, so unlike his usual passive self, he snapped, "No, you won't be punished."

Every Autobot, including the twins, stared dumbstruck at the black and white officer. Silence fell, broken only by the sound of a confused cricket.

"Why not?" Ironhide asked, breaking the stunned silence after Prowl's declaration.

"Because, according to protocol, the trickery of the Decepticons interrupted their cohesion and because of such actions, no Autobot engaged in battle or were injured in any way," Prowl recited, each word becoming harder to pronounce in his agitation. "Therefore, there is no cause for disciplinary action."

"No slag," Jazz whistled, giving the twins an approving look. He'd have to look into recruiting them again for his Special Ops team.

The laughter started as the odd chuckle, until the entire Autobot army was laughing hysterically.

"They shouldn't be rewarded for such abysmal behavior," Prowl growled, glaring at the twins who were now receiving slaps on the back and cheers from their teammates. All past transgressions seemed to be forgotten. Even Gears was laughing and congratulating the twins on a job well done. "I don't recall signing up for this," Prowl groused before turning away from the insanity in the ranks.

Sideswipe offered the Second his most charming, cunning, orneriest look he could muster, which only enhanced his handsome features and made him look downright irresistible.

"Ya sor-tinly did," he smiled, transforming and racing toward the Ark, where many other pranks were waiting to be plotted.

0000 00000 000000 000000 000000 00000 00000

Sorry guys. I just LOVE The Three Stooges! Moe, Larry, and Curly fit perfectly into the Command trine flipping out. In case you haven't figured it out, Skywarp was Curly, Thundercracker was Larry, and Starscream was Moe.

Anyhoo, let me know what ya think! I hope everyone had a good laugh! I certainly did while writing it… it helped to have a Stooges marathon playing in the background


	13. Side Order

**Side Order**

**HUGE Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter!**

**Sorry I haven't updated lately but I've started working on another fic that has completely absorbed my brain and hogged all my time.**

In case anyone missed it, its called,** "The Aby of Darkness" **and itfeatures **Sunstreaker, **though the fic is rated** "M"…. for good reason. **Its been nagging me, filling my days with constant note taking, and has been more demanding than an In Law.

**Yeah. That much fun. Though Admittedly, its turned out better than I hoped. **

**Anyhoo, reviews would be cherished and adored and may get my muse to change focus. **

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"Sideswipe, you need attention," Prowl observed as he watched the frontliner grab the sparse trees and lean them in haphazard fashion across the mouth of the cave.

"Not now, Prowl," Sideswipe said without acknowledging the Second in Command standing a few steps away. "I'm busy."

"Busy or not, you need medical attention," Prowl reiterated, looking at the busted knee joint that had the warrior limping.

"I've had a lot worse," Sideswipe continued, pulling up a tree and placing it with the scrubby verge to conceal the entrance. "It's nothing."

"It's not _nothing_," Prowl pressed, finally dragging his own injured body to the carmine Lamborghini and grabbing his arm, halting his progress. "You have a busted joint. Let Ratchet take a look at it and see if he can help."

"I took care of it myself," Sideswipe answered, pulling his arm free of his commanding officer.

"Sideswipe, you duct taped a Con's arm to your leg," Prowl growled, his optics flashing with a mixture of concern and anger.

"He wasn't needing it," Sideswipe retorted, pulling up a thorny thicket. "I needed a quick fix and it was just laying there. Problem solved."

Sideswipe threw the thicket to the front of his defensive verge and turned to glare at the Second. "Now I suggest you get back in the cave and let me get back to work."

Prowl's argument died in his throat. His vision swam and for a moment he thought he was going to topple forward, but ruby arms encased him and held him steady until he could recalibrate his equilibrium.

"No argument," Sideswipe said in Prowl's audio. "You're injured far worse than myself. You're an officer. I'm just a soldier. My injuries are mainly structural, and can wait. Now get your aft back into that cave and have Ratchet to take a look at _you_."

"What about you and Sunstreaker?" Prowl asked, feeling his dizziness subside to a more tolerable level.

"My knee is busted, but my hands still work. Sunstreaker has a shattered windshield and several burns, but nothing that's life threatening. We can still fight. You can't," Sideswipe said, raising his arm to point at the darkness inside the cave. "Now get your aft in there and try to keep everyone calm."

Prowl nodded mutely, shuffling back into the cave. Sunstreaker emerged from around the hillside, several thin trees clutched in his shaking limbs. Sideswipe took them from his brother and nodded toward the entrance, placing the foliage in a pattern for good concealment, but allowing observation from the inside. When he got the approval of his twin, he too was swallowed by the dark.

"Erase our tracks?" Sideswipe asked, hearing the sounds of someone struggling further into the cave.

"Spread the energon around, made several sets of false tracks, and left behind some pieces of Cons, just in case they need visual reminders of why they shouldn't mess with us," Sunstreaker answered, settling in for a long wait.

Sideswipe nodded, seating himself next to his brother. Without a word both twins opened ports along their forearms and connected two data wires.

"Wake me if you see something," Sideswipe muttered, already starting to power down into recharge mode.

Sunstreaker merely nodded, letting his affirmation trickle through the connection. He felt his brother slip into stasis and turned his sensors outward, keeping watch for potential threats. Actively scanning the horizon, Sunstreaker thought back to that morning, remembering his comment on how uneventful the Cons had been lately. Midmorning came and his world literally became one nightmare after another.

His paints were detained in customs for another week. Red Alert managed to video some rather unflattering footage of the warrior covered in dirt and broadcasted it throughout the Ark. Sideswipe collided with his twin and left a nasty black mark on the perfect plating. Then the alarm sounded for a Decepticon attack.

He really should learn to keep his vocalizer shut!

The Autobots had rolled out according to plan, finding the site of devastation and engaging the enemy. Neither twin knew what happened, but before they knew it, Prime, Ratchet, Prowl, Windcharger, Bluestreak and themselves were teleported several hundred miles away. Disoriented from the warp, the Autobots were easy targets, getting their afts handed to them before escaping into a heavily forested area.

And now, as twilight fast approached, the Autobots remained sequestered inside a cave on the outskirts of the wood, hoping the Decepticon's had lost their tracks. Prowl had ordered all communications be halted in case Soundwave triangulated their location, and with the warriors in various states of distress, they'd be easy pickings.

Sunstreaker kept vigil, his brother's systems hooked into his own for easier monitoring. Both were fairing rather badly, but if the need arose, they were the more apt to fight. He was pulled out of his passive scanning by the sounds of a wounded Autobot. Muffled screams echoed from the darkness. Sunstreaker cast his optics to the dark, narrowing them into slits as he continued to hear the noise. He growled a low oath, knowing that at any moment, a Con could hear the noise and investigate. They all would die because someone couldn't keep their vocalizer shut.

Hands balling into fists, his anger bled through to his twin. Sideswipe jerked away, his battle instincts kicking in due to the response he was receiving from his twin via their connection.

"Cons?" Sideswipe whispered, his scanners employed to their fullest extent.

"No, but if that racquet doesn't stop, the Cons will find us in no time," Sunstreaker muttered, snarling toward the back of the cave where the sounds of pain were beginning to subside. "Fragger's going to get us all killed."

Sideswipe said nothing, but focused his attention to the forest. Several long minutes went by, the voices lowering into silence. Both brothers relaxed, until they heard the soft footfalls of Cybertronian feet. They turned to see the flashing white panels of Prowl, who was now limping and using the wall as a supportive guide.

"Casualties?" Sunstreaker asked when he drew near, ignoring the injuries the black and white sported.

"None," Prowl said, limping closer to the pair, his optics staring out at the veiled landscape. "Ratchet has put Prime into stasis. His spark chamber was scorched."

"He'll pull through," Sideswipe said, almost dismissively, but there wasn't a lot of vigor behind his words. Spark chamber damage was serious business. If not properly attended to, the mech could perish in a slow, agonizing way. It wasn't something they considered their leader going through. "What else?"

"Bluestreak has lost a doorwing," Prowl said, and his tone sent chills into the twin sparks. "Ratchet had to sedate him until it can be reattached. Windcharger has a busted drive train, effectively keeping him immobile, while Ratchet has a cracked windshield, crushed pede, and can't engage the medical tools of his left hand."

"What about you?" Sunstreaker asked, noting the tactician had conveniently left himself off the injury list.

Prowl seemed to mull it over, not wanting the twins to know the extent of his injuries, but if they needed back up and he couldn't perform to standard, then not only would he let them down, but would probably end up terminating the entire team.

"My equilibrium calibrations are off due to cranial trauma, but Ratchet assures me that it can be repaired," Prowl started, hoping the twins didn't joke about his weakness. "I have also sustained a rather annoying injury to my left leg that has relieved me of energon and strength."

"Go back inside," Sideswipe said, motioning for Prowl to join the others.

"I can take a shift, if necessary," Prowl started, but Sideswipe gave a curt shake of his head.

"You are in no shape to defend us if we're attacked," Sideswipe countered.

"I can do more than you seem to realize," Prowl said, feeling affronted that his skills were being questioned. He was the Second in Command of the Autobot army for Primus sake!

Prowl's anger disappeared in a flash as Sideswipe grabbed his arm, jerking the tactician toward him. Prowl emitted a painful keen, overbalancing and crashing head first into Sideswipe's chest. His vision swam, and for a moment, all he could discern was the color of rubies. He didn't need Sideswipe to tell him that he was too injured to be of any good. Though the look the frontliner was giving him would haunt his memory for a long time. He wasn't going to live it down anytime in the near future.

"Go. Keep everyone quiet and we'll keep everyone safe," Sideswipe said sternly.

Prowl nodded without comment, feeling his helm pound in time with his spark. He was in no condition to ward off attackers. Begrudgingly he made his way back to Ratchet, hoping the medic could stabilize the world before it spun so fast he'd fly off of it. It was sometime later that Prowl riled, realizing Sideswipe had given him an order, and he had complied without hesitation. That was twice the frontliner had overstepped his boundaries.

Prowl vowed it would never happen again.

"I'm going to have a look," Sideswipe muttered to his twin, easing some of the verge away from their hiding spot.

"What if a Con sees you?" Sunstreaker countered.

"Then I'll have to politely ask to not reveal my location," Sideswipe sniped, slipping out of the cave.

"You're too injured. I should go," Sunstreaker volunteered.

"I have a better chance at blending into the environment than you, Sunshine," Sideswipe grinned before disappearing into the night and leaving his twin staring after him.

Half an hour later, Sideswipe sent a familiar nudge through the bond he shared with his twin before manifesting out of the dark. He crept back inside, half heartedly pulling the concealing hedge along with him.

"Well?" Sunstreaker prodded.

"There are approximately eleven deer within a half mile of this location, and all are grazing peacefully," Sideswipe said, settling down with a groan from his busted knee. He pulled the roll of duct tape out from his subspace and began to retape the pieces that had come loose during his trek.

"What the slag do animals have to do with a Con report?" Sunstreaker snapped, wanting so much to rip into his twin.

"Because, Daft Daffodil, if there were any Cons around, surely the animals wouldn't be so peaceful," Sideswipe ground out as he taped a particularly nasty piece of his knee back into place. Sideswipe's rational argument made Sunstreaker's scowl deepen, but the citrine twin decided not to let his emotions bleed through the bond and give Sideswipe incentive praise to his sudden flash of intelligence. "They'd be running scared or left as smears on the ground. Besides, I hunted for spark signatures and didn't receive a reply, Daffie."

"They could be in hiding or learned to mask their signal, like us," Sunstreaker argued, his energon running hot at the nickname. He hated to have his name mutilated. He was designated as Sunstreaker and he would appreciate it if everyone used his full designation instead of their shortened, and unflattering, nicknames. He couldn't seem to get the idea across to his twin.

"Doubtful," Sideswipe gave a shrug that was punctuated by a grind of gears. "I started randomly tossing out Autobot frequencies and didn't encounter a block."

"Idiot," Sunstreaker hissed, shaking his head and wanting so badly to throttle his processorless twin.

"I contacted base," Sideswipe added, earning a searing white hot glare. "I told them what happened and Blaster said he'd send Skyfire in the morning."

"Sons of the Pit, we're all dead," Sunstreaker snarled, taking a threatening step toward his twin.

"I took precautions," Sideswipe growled, puffing up his chest in defiance. He wasn't about to back down from Sunstreaker. "We exchanged pass codes to make sure each was who they said they were. And Blaster used the new officer's code to tell me when and where Skyfire would pick us up."

Sunstreaker relaxed marginally, but still glared daggers at his brother.

"Prowl won't happy about this," Sunstreaker muttered, looking out between the suppressive verge.

"He can order me to the brig again," Sideswipe offered a little shrug. "Doesn't really matter to me either way. I made a judgment call and hopefully, we'll be able to get everyone safely back to base. Surely Prowl could understand that."

"I don't know. You know how he is with punishments," Sunstreaker said, giving his brother a look in the dark. "Don't think he likes the idea of you taking charge."

"No, don't think he's into submission," Sideswipe snickered, earning a grinding snort from Sunstreaker as he tried and failed to hide his mirth. "Get some rest. Skyfire will be here in three hours."

"Do I look like I like taking the submissive role?" Sunstreaker shot back, though his tone lacked aggression.

"You enjoy it a little too much, I'm afraid," Sideswipe smiled innocently and added with a sickening sweet tone, "Now get some recharge before I knock your aft out."

Sunstreaker sneered but settled against the wall of the cave, his optics gleaming to near white. "You wait until later. You'll get what's coming to you."

"Promises, promises," Sideswipe singsonged, sending a wave of giddiness, just to annoy his twin.

Sunstreaker's protest died in his vocalizer as he slipped into recharge, his processor working overtime in formulating retribution against his twin. Sometimes, the citrine twin wished he was on an only child.

Dawn broke, and with it came the roaring engines of Skyfire. As several Autobots took defensive positions, the battle weary mechs exited the cave, the twins casting a fond farewell to their temporary sanctuary. Ratchet ordered everyone to med bay where they endured their turn of repairs while Ratchet worked extensively on Prime. Wheeljack and Perceptor assisted the medic, attending to the injuries in record time. When Ratchet was finished replacing Sunstreaker's windshield, he dismissed the twins with strict orders to refrain from physical activity and get plenty of rest while their repairs healed. His orders were punctuated by falling into recharge on his feet, swaying dangerously until Wheeljack caught him and with Perceptor's help, placed the medic on a berth.

Ratchet's restriction lasted a full two hours before being disobeyed and Sunstreaker was seen stalking down the hall to his studio, which was situated on the other side of the base in a partially destroyed cargo bay.

The next morning Prowl knocked on the door to the twins' room, a datapad clutched in his hand. A muffled noise came from the opposite side before a voice called out.

"Get in here," Sideswipe called roughly.

Prowl ignored the rough command and opened the door. He was momentarily surprised to see the room looking so neat and orderly. He stepped back into the hall, searching the corridor for proper identification and with a confused look, realized he had the designated room. He stepped inside to see Sideswipe polishing something that looked suspiciously like Sunstreaker's favorite mirror. Sideswipe jumped when he saw his visitor, placing the mirror on the desk and giving the Second a look that clearly stated **'I'm-doing-something-I-shouldn't.'**

Then Prowl remembered the 'Sideswipe equations' that Jazz had invented. He mentally scrolled through the list to find the proper notation.

Boredom+Sideswipe= Destruction, usually of other's property

Guilt+Sideswipe= Lots of high grade until unconscious

Happiness+Sideswipe= Stupidity of epic proportions, videoed

Anger+Sideswipe= Someone will be missing limbs

Guile+Sideswipe= Obsessive clean freak

Prowl gave an indiscernible twitch, realizing Sideswipe was cleaning as he plotted. It was a dangerous combination. The last time Prowl assigned cleaning duty to the frontliner, it had ended up with the entire Ark booby-trapped and many mechs ready to dismember and scatter the ruby parts to places unknown.

"Prowl? What do you want?" Sideswipe asked, surprise still clear on his face.

Prowl stepped into the room, earning a brief look of panic from Sideswipe before ignoring the frontliner's demeanor and stating the reason for his impromptu visit.

"I wish to extend my gratitude for your actions," Prowl started, displaying a datapad and offering it to Sideswipe. "When Prime and myself were incapacitated, you stepped in and took control."

"Just did my job," Sideswipe said, his surprise giving way to embarrassment as he accepted the datapad.

"No, you did _my_ job," Prowl corrected without any hint of anger. "You assumed command when I was compromised and performed admirably. You followed protocol and displayed attributes worthy of an officer. I have written a detailed report and intend on giving it to Prime with the recommendation that you receive an award for your actions."

Sideswipe looked at the datapad, glancing over the detailed script displayed in Prowl's perfect scrawl. He handed the pad back as if afraid it would attack him and stared dumbfounded at the Second. He was silent for a moment, unable to formulate his thoughts into any cohesive understanding.

"I don't deserve an award," Sideswipe managed to say.

"That decision is up to Prime," Prowl said, a hint of pride shining in his optics. "You went above and beyond the call of duty and kept a level head, something of which I did not believe you capable of, and you ensured everyone returned safely. Those actions should be acknowledged and rewarded."

Not one to engage in emotional displays or unnecessary interactions, Prowl offered a nod before turning on his heel to leave.

"Wait!" Sideswipe yelled, but it was too late.

Prowl's foot triggered the trap and out of no where a projectile went sailing through the air. A great splattering sound echoed around the room, followed by Sideswipe's low groan.

Prowl stood frozen in place, a piece of the prank sliding over his armor and landing with a little splash on the floor, his vision completely obscured by thick, dripping brilliant neon purple paint, the perfect color to clash hideously with Sunstreaker's gorgeous armor. Prowl stood statuesque, his doorwings starting to vibrate with his building anger.

Sideswipe cringed and hung his head, knowing his fate was sealed.

"Side… swipe," Prowl managed to grind out in a hiss.

"I know, I know," Sideswipe sighed, stalking past the purple, white and black officer. "To the brig." He made it as far as the doorway, before turning and asking, "Does this mean I don't get the reward?"

A splattered datapad to the olfactory sensor was his reply.

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**What can I say? Sideswipe DOES have the intelligence to plan and strategize, he just uses his gifts in the wrong way. **

**Hope you enjoyed and feel free to leave me a review!**

**Don't forget to check out…..**

**The Aby of Darkness**

**PJ**


	14. Streak of Luck

**Streak of Luck**

The twins' day has mirrored my YEAR. I learned never to say "It couldn't get any worse".

**Thank you **to those who reviewed so far! Your words have kept me going! Your encouragement is appreciated and loved and I hope to continue to bring you these crazy one shots of our favorite Lamborghinis.

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"Before you start, this wasn't our fault," Sideswipe said, being mostly carried across the threshold of the med bay by his twin.

Ratchet looked up from his current diagnostics of an unconscious Red Alert, and gave a start.

"What the Pit did you get into this time?" he demanded by way of greeting. He slammed down his tools and marched across the room, grabbing Sideswipe roughly and giving him a shake.

"Pit, Ratchet!" Sideswipe squawked. "My equilibrium chips are screwed up!"

"You're telling me, Idiot!" Ratchet snapped, mech-handling the crippled Lamborghini. Unfortunately Ratchet didn't take in the physical condition of both mechs before his abrasive treatment. Sunstreaker gave a pitiful whine and dropped his twin to the floor, where he pulled Ratchet down with him.

Ratchet let out a startled epithet that surely didn't belong in any medical journal as he went crashing on top of Sideswipe. Grumbling, he helped the fallen warrior to his pedes, then realized Sideswipe couldn't get them to function properly. With a sigh he heaved the lighter sports car over his shoulder and threw him on the nearest berth.

Sunstreaker hobbled to the nearest berth and flopped down. He groaned as he maneuvered himself into a reclined position and waited for his turn with the scalpeled guillotine.

Sideswipe gave Ratchet a few new names, none of which Prime would have approved of being used, and earned himself a sharp reprieve that dented his already busted helm.

"Ouch! Watch what you're doing you insane witchdoctor!" he hollered, his joints giving a grind that almost drown out his voice.

"Explain yourselves!" Ratchet demanded, his scanners already employed and showing a long list of damage.

Sideswipe gave a pitiful squeak before his optics rolled back in his head and fell against the berth.

"Slagging glitches, the whole lot of you!" Ratchet fumed onward, oblivious to Sideswipe's lack of attention. The medic was used to his patients being in such a state. Didn't slow or halt his tirade.

"Forty percent neuro-conductivity, ten percent of hoses melted, eight fuses completely blown, two main wires fried, eleven circuit boards showing damage that will require extensive repairs, transformation cog will have to be replaced, and why are the both of you covered in spray paint?" Ratchet rattled off, his voice becoming lower with each injury. It was not a good sign. As if on cue, he turned slowly to face Sunstreaker, who looked a little frightened. Ratchet's voice was still set on 'dangerous', "What in the slagging Pit have you two been doing?"

"It wasn't our fault," Sunstreaker started with a feeble voice. When Ratchet growled in warning, he took a shaky, rattling inhale through his vents. Feeling his fuel freeze in his lines from Ratchet's glare, he said meekly, "I'll give you the quick version."

Ratchet gave a crisp nod in affirmation, ignoring the incessant pinging now coming from the high command. No doubt the twins were the reason for the summons, so he better get the story before alerting the Command element to the culprits' whereabouts.

"We went to Portland to get Carly something for her birthing day," Sunstreaker started, knowing he better keep optic contact for fear Ratchet would strike when his defenses were down. "When we got to the mall, there was a car dealership showing off their new models. We couldn't resist checking out the competition, and when we transformed, the humans started taking pictures and demanding interviews."

"And?" Ratchet prompted, still glaring daggers.

"Well, someone mentioned the new fuel system and designs, so I said it wasn't as wonderful as they claim, and next thing you know the humans were upset and threatening us," Sunstreaker said, hoping to gain a little sympathy, but coming up empty.

"What could possibly cause them to threaten you?" Ratchet demanded.

"They were comparing domestic American cars to Lamborghinis," Sunstreaker said, a fire lighting his optics. His lip curled in disdain as he repeated, adding just a dash more venom, "_Domestics_…. To **Lamborghinis**. Well, there really isn't any competition, is there?"

"So, their opinion caused some friction," Ratchet said, knowing that the worst thing to do around Sunstreaker was to question the superiority of his chosen alt mode. He was known to slag mechs for even suggesting he lower his standards to more maneuverable vehicle for the region the Ark was currently calling home.

"It was a minor misunderstanding. I tried to tell them there was no competition and they can keep their low rate vehicles, when the humans started throwing things at us," Sunstreaker said, his anger building as he recalled the start of this whole fiasco. "So we decided to leave and try the mall on the other side of town. We made it about four blocks when we were attacked by Cons."

"Decepticons?" Ratchet asked, wondering how a Con attack hadn't reached the Autobots.

"No, **con**victs," Sunstreaker snapped, his usual sarcasm roiling with his tank. "Of course it was Decepticons! It was the Coneheads with Rumble and Frenzy, but we weren't expecting them. They got the drop on us, rained fire, we took several hits and had hide in the city. Unfortunately we ended up near a news studio and unable to escape, we had to engage. The humans came out, video taped us, tried to interview us while engaged in combat. I may have made some comments about their intelligence and how they may deserve some horrible accidents to befall them, and they took offence."

Ratchet offered a noise of contempt, still ignoring the comm..

"Cons got off a lucky shot, knocking Sides out, so I had to jump in to defend my brother," Sunstreaker continued. "I was able to disrupt their attacks, with a little help from a couple human vehicles that had full gas tanks. As the Cons fled, blinded and blistered, I was able to get my idiot twin to transform and follow me. Unfortunately we both sustained heavy damage, and broke down on the road. We called a tow truck to assist us, but when the human showed up, he gave us a lecture on the quality of human engineering and craftsmanship and some other slag I couldn't have cared about. After he yelled at us for ten slagging minutes, he drove away, giving us a rather rude gesture. So I transformed and shot out his back tires. He careened into a lamppost, and as he climbed out of his truck with a weapon in hand, we retreated." Sunstreaker gave a heavy sigh that left a gurgling in his tanks. It wasn't a promising sound. He frowned as the noise, then continued, "Because my brother is an idiot, we ended up in the wrong part of town. We tried to hail humans to help us, but most just stared at us like they would rather take us apart than assist us in getting home."

"You didn't insult them?" Ratchet asked causally, wondering how many Sunstreaker had killed and disposed of. He really didn't react well to being threatened, especially if his paint was involved. How the warrior survived being covered in graffiti, the medic was terrified to ask.

"I sure as slag did," Sunstreaker said defensively. How dare Ratchet insinuate he'd let mere puny humans get away with such flagrant stupidity. "But Sides was hurt and needed repairs, so we left. Got behind a funeral procession that took their slagging sweet time and when we started honking at them to tell them to get their afts in gear, some humans started screaming at us from their cars about being **respectful**." Sunstreaker gave Ratchet a vile look that made the medic shiver. "So I transformed and showed them what respect meant."

"You didn't?" Ratchet asked, afraid of the answer.

"I tried," Sunstreaker gave half a shrug, indifferent to the misery of the humans who had lost their loved one. "As soon as they saw my gun they actually went the speed limit."

Ratchet did his best to not face palm, still studiously ignoring the comm. from high command. They were slagging impatient, whoever they were.

"So we decided to take a short cut," Sunstreaker continued, oblivious to Ratchet's wavering attention. "Turned down Crest High Street, and didn't know the city was flushing their hydrants. Between the two of us, we hydroplaned from a gushing fire hydrant, ran over a small furry animal, careened off the sidewalk, took out three mail boxes, another hydrant, a telephone box, and nine trashcans. Though most of the hits were on Sides' tally."

"Sweet Primus," Ratchet muttered, clearly perturbed by the way the twins had been entertained for the day.

"I ran up on the sidewalk, and blew a tire," Sunstreaker admitted. He was glad Ratchet was the only one conscious in the room. He'd self terminate if someone saw him in less than perfect condition. "Sides offlined and drifted into me, and together we hit a tree. Thankfully we had lost most of our momentum, but the impact was enough to knock me offline as well."

Ratchet didn't comment on the dents and dings that also littered both frames.

"When we onlined, I was able to transform and pull Sides away from the tree, but his transformation cog was busted, so I had to transform him by hand," Sunstreaker gave his twin a dirty look, then gave Ratchet a disgusted sneer. "And I'm not sticking my hand in _there_ again!"

Ratchet couldn't stop the snort from escaping. No one enjoyed having to be manually transformed. Protoforms were very sensitive, and could easily be damaged by someone who didn't know your personal sequence.

"That's when I noticed we were missing our hubcaps and both of us were covered in graffiti," Sunstreaker said, and there was a sharp edge that made Ratchet flinch and want to check his body for damage. Defacing paint or armor was a huge error of judgment when Sunstreaker was involved. You damaged him or his twin, he'd make revenge look like child's play. Add the stupidity factor of stealing something from either, and you may as well dig your own grave and get comfortable in it.

"I've noticed the spray paint," Ratchet said sternly, hoping to convey his disgust so the golden warrior wouldn't rear his temperamental side. Sideswipe was the only one who could control Sunstreaker when he was in such a state, and the ruby twin was currently unconscious.

"It won't be forgotten," Sunstreaker muttered darkly, the street etched deep into his memory banks. And every address burned permanently into his CPU. Oh yes, there's going to be payback.

"So, how did you get home?" Ratchet asked, wondering what other trial the twins were going to be subjected to.

"We walked," Sunstreaker said, setting aside his revenge programming to deal with the present. He was tired, hungry, in pain, and in desperate need of a good wash and wax. And for some reason, his tank was threatening to rebel. He gestured toward his twin and added, "Last four miles I had to practically carry the slagger."

Without warning Sunstreaker leaned over the side of the berth and purged, though with his tank being half empty, there wasn't much to bring up. Ratchet yelled, shoving a drop cloth across the floor, where it captured most of the spillage.

Ratchet frowned at the dark purple, chunky energon that splattered onto the cloth. He scanned it and let out a bark of contempt.

Sunstreaker thought the noise was directed at him and gave Ratchet a dark look, "I couldn't help it!"

"It's not that," Ratchet said, his mouth twisting into a sneer. "There's glucose in your energon!"

"Huh?" Sunstreaker asked before he curled up into a painful ball.

"Sugar," Ratchet explained with a dark countenance, making a mental note to notify the proper chain of command. "Someone put sugar in your tank."

"Slaggers," Sunstreaker muttered.

Just then Prowl stormed into the medbay, a whirlwind of black and white fury.

"Ratchet! I have been comming you for the past half hour," Prowl said, his anger directed toward the medic before he noticed the patient sitting on the berth. His ire instantly changed victims.

"Hospitalized humans, thousands of dollars worth of damage, and a public apology to a local automotive establishment. And that's only a fraction of the list that you and your brother are responsible for," Prowl snapped at Sunstreaker. "You have a lot of explaining to do before you spend the rest of your existence in the brig!"

Sunstreaker gave the Second a half glance, as if considering his options. Slowly, he pulled himself off the berth, swinging his legs over the edge, careful not to step in the congealed puddle being absorbed, and opened the cabinet situated between his berth and the neighboring one. He turned to Ratchet, gave a quick gesture to Prowl and said, "You tell him," and promptly emptied the contents of a tranq dose into his main fuel line.

Sunstreaker collapsed, hood first over the berth. He wasn't so much as _lying_ on the berth as he was draping, strutless across its polished surface. It was then that Prowl could see the graffiti that adorned the golden warrior's body. As his optics scrolled over the text, a part of him wondered why humans were so enamored with certain body parts and various verbs. It seemed unhealthy.

Prowl gave a slight twitch as Ratchet sent him a file, a complete recount of the twins ordeal. Prowl absorbed the information, his optics narrowing.

"Now, if you don't mind, I have patients that require immediate attention," Ratchet said when Prowl showed signs of having downloaded the information. When Prowl turned his optics to regard him with a cool expression, Ratchet added, "And just so you know, there will be _no_ punishment detail. They've suffered enough and it's going to take a while for both of them to recover from the damage I've been able to detect." When Prowl opened his mouth to object, Ratchet interrupted. "As the Chief Medical Officer it's my call, and from the extent of injuries sustained, the twins were well within their rights to do what was necessary to ensure their safe return to their home. If you question my authority, I have no qualms in welding your winged aft to my office door and displaying you like an insect in a science project!"

Prowl thought about arguing, and knowing the CMO had jurisdiction in his medbay, it was wise to keep ones vocalizer shut. Ironhide had found that out the hard way. Besides, Prowl fully intended on getting a detailed report, including vid feed, from both twins when they regained consciousness. And if their account did indeed show the humans displaying violent behavior against them, then it was time that the Command unit have another talk with the liaisons and elected officials.

"I want a full report of their damage," Prowl said, then took his leave.

Ratchet nodded and went to Sideswipe, who showed the most damage. A thorough scan of his tanks showed that it too had been compromised. Ratchet sighed, comming Wheeljack and Perceptor to help him put the twins back together.

And Primus help the ones who were responsible for the current state of health of his two favorite patients, for when he found them, heads… would…. roll.

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Please let me know what you think or if you find any horrible mistakes.

Reviews are loved and cherished and fuel the muse so by all means, drown the bitch. :D


	15. Always Two Sides

**Always Two Sides **

Takes place when the twins first joined the Autobots.

Didn't take long to set the standard.

And I made Prowl slightly OOC, but I'm taking a little liberty here and giving him a better expanse of emotion. This is the beginning of the war afterall, so I think he's a bit more emotional. As the war progresses, he's gonna close himself off.

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Cybertron: Unknown City, approximately 4 millions years ago

"Two missed shifts, threats of violence against eight members of staff, unlawful entry into a secured location, public disruption leading to inciting a riot, possession of illegal high grade, unauthorized access to the main terminal where illicit activities have been recorded and traced back to our location and," Prowl paused, optics scanning the report before turning his attention back to the duo standing at ease in his office. "Insubordination."

"Sounds about right," Sideswipe said, giving his brother half a glance. "Though the insubordination was merely a statement of fact. The Commander is really a tight aft that needs a good interface."

"I was talking about your lack of protocol and proper **attention** when addressing a Commanding Officer," Prowl growled, his doorwings giving a slight twitch.

"Oh," Sideswipe blinked, then shrugged, not bothering to snap to perfect military attention like everyone else when confronted with the Autobot SIC. "Nevermind then."

Sunstreaker stood sullen next to the door. The action riled Prowl further. No one flagrantly disregarded the rules. No One! When a Commander _ordered _you to his office, you were stand at attention and offer the proper military answers to your superior. Clearly someone didn't instruct these new recruits on protocol. That gross lapse in their education was going to be amended by the Praxian.

"You are to spend two megacycles in the brig and when you are released, you are to report to the Maintenance Crew to be assigned for another two megacycles," Prowl said, injecting as much acid into his tone as possible. He really couldn't stand these two. He gave them an orn before they were terminated, either by the enemy or their own faction.

"Four megacycles as punishment?" Sideswipe gasped incredulously. "But, what if we're needed? We can't be confined when there's a war going on out there!"

"The Autobots have endured long before you two graced us with your unpleasant company," Prowl said with disdain. "Surely we can survive without you while your time is served."

"But, we're the best soldiers you have!" Sideswipe's voice rose slightly. He couldn't believe that he and his brother were going to be missing upcoming battles.

"There are hundreds of the best trained soldiers Cybertron has ever produce guarding our borders. I hardly think that two ill-mannered and unprofessional mechs such as yourselves are our only line of defense," Prowl said, finding the mechs self-importance to be laughable.

Sunstreaker chose that moment to step forward, his optics ice white. His words were punctuated by each step until he was standing in front of Prowl's desk. "We may be untrained by your standards, but we know how to get the job done."

"Considering you can't seem to obey simple rules and follow proven military methods, I fail to see your point," Prowl added, not perturbed by the golden warrior glaring daggers at him. He looked between the two, clearly recalculating his earlier predictions and decided they would probably meet their end via friendly fire. He nodded toward his door in dismissal, "I believe you are expected in the brig."

Sideswipe ex-vented harshly, realizing he wasn't going to sway the black and white mech. He gave a grunt of acceptance and grabbed his twin's arm, pulling him toward the door.

"I honestly don't know what Prime was thinking allowing the two of you in our ranks," Prowl said, more to himself, but his voice carried nonetheless.

Sunstreaker halted, pulling his arm free from his twin and marching back to the desk. Though he leveled the Commanding Officer in height, his presence made him seem much bigger. Prowl actually took a half step back when the frontliner leaned over the desk, their olfactory sensors nearly touching.

"I may lack the training others have had, but I know how to protect those around me, and I'll be slagged if I allow _you_ to question me or my abilities," Sunstreaker said in a low voice. "I know how to fight and I have no qualms in educating others of the fact." His hand slammed into the metal desk with a loud clang, accenting his words. His voice dropped low as he continued, "It would be wise to watch who you insult, because they may be the ones protecting your aft in the future." As quick as lightening he extracted himself from the Second's personal space and backed out of the room.

The door was shut before Prowl could regain his senses. How dare a simple soldier threaten him! He fully intended on extending their punishment detail.

Pit, he was so pissed, he seriously considering comming Prime and asking permission for a firing squad!

Venting harshly, Prowl closed his optics and calmed himself. He was always in control of his emotions. This type of display was unacceptable. Surely his emotions could be put aside, or at least, controlled. To show so much anger was very unprofessional, especially in front of new recruits. Though for the life of him, Prowl couldn't understand why the two riled him up so badly. It wasn't the illegal activities, those continue to go on, though admittedly, a lot more discreetly than what the twins displayed. Perhaps it was the nonchalance? Or the insubordination? Or any combination of the two. Whatever the reason, Prowl felt his circuits burn. He slowly opened his optics, glaring at the door where the two miscreants had disappeared through.

Prowl looked to his desk and noticed a small datachip in the indentation Sunstreaker had left with his hand. Curiously he picked it up and inserted it in the small terminal on his desk. The screen lit up with icons, each labeled for a particularly spectacular gladiatorial fight. Prowl clicked through several, watching as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe tore through the bodies of hapless gladiators. Their faces were set in grim expressions, but occasionally one would see the vicious sneer adorning Sunstreaker's face as his rival sparked spasmodically in his arms before extinguishing.

Prowl clicked on the new folder icons labeled with Autobot sigils, indicating new footage and felt his intakes stall.

The twins had already been party to four major battles, all won by Autobot forces. Their last location had been compromised by a traitor and the few bots who had survived were sent to Iacon, where the twins were now the Command staff's problem.

Prowl watched in morbid fascination as the twins easily pressed into the oncoming horde, the screen splitting to display each twin's unique perspective on the fight. Prowl clicked through all four of the subfolders, and by the second folder, he noticed there were small numbers in the corners of the twin's internal displays. Frowning he skimmed through the footage, watching each twin's point of view as battles were fought.

They never halted their advance.

And Prowl realized what the numbers in the corner meant. They were kills. Tallies of lives taken, both in the current battle and of their involvement thus far. The numbers were staggering.

Prowl was sickened to see their individual totals were already in the hundreds. A doorwing gave a twitch as he stared at their kill ratio. Yes, it was best to get rid of these two. They were an unstable element and uncontrollable. It was wise and safer for everyone. The problem was, where to put them?

It was clear they weren't designed to be around others, at least not in great numbers, so it was logical to remove them from the general public. Perhaps put them permanently on the frontlines? Their recklessness and lack of empathy would pave the way for the trained soldiers and if they were terminated, well, the Autobot forces would be safer for it.

Prowl closed the files and tucked the datachip away in his subspace. A chill swept up his spinal strut and lingered for a long time after.

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approximately four and a half million years later

Earth- Oregon- Just outside of Portland

"Unauthorized hacking of personal files, using said information for blackmail, throwing Brawn in the tar pits, illegal high grade and," Prowl paused for effect, though it really didn't matter. The list was rather redundant by now. "Insubordination."

"Hey! I earned that insubordination!" Sideswipe barked, pointing a threatening finger at Prowl. "Ironhide was cheating and I wasn't going to let the slagger get away with it."

"Nevertheless, he is still your superior officer," Prowl said nonplussed, a doorwing twitching to its normal pulse.

"_Not_ superior," Sideswipe said, his trademark smug grin firmly in place. "I could take him."

"Brig," Prowl said, pointing to his door. "Three days."

"Three?" Sunstreaker asked from his station at the door. Still, after all the eons of war, he refused to leave a door unguarded.

"Yes, well, there's a celebration on Thursday and Prime has requested everyone attend," Prowl admitted. "Besides, it's not like it does any good anyway."

"Nope," Sideswipe smiled, then offered a perfect salute before marching his twin out of the Second's office.

"Three days," Sideswipe cooed, leading Sunstreaker down to the brig. "Three whole days. What is a mech to do?"

"Recharge," Sunstreaker grunted, having pulled a week solid of double shifts with very little off time in between. Truthfully, he wished the punishment was a bit longer; it would have saved him from more patrols that left him nearly crawling on his undercarriage from exhaustion.

The twins stopped when they noticed the state of the cell block. There were only four cells, the Ark not seeing fit to have more due to its exploratory nature and not enemy incarceration and transport. Two of the cells were dark, their internals hanging out and mounds of machinery surrounding them. Apparently they were down for repairs, and if the soot mark on the floor was any indication, it was Wheeljack doing the work. Or damage, as the case may be. The third cell was basically used as storage, and it was doubtful the power grid was even operational. That left only one cell.

And two volatile mechs.

One of whom wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep the week away.

The other, an idiot that didn't seem to understand the concept of personal space and the need for rest.

Without looking at each other they stepped over the threshold and heard the telltale signs of the energy bars activating.

"Come here, bitch," Sideswipe growled roughly as the bars shimmered into existence.

Sunstreaker gave his twin a look that clearly said he doubted his sanity and wasn't going to divulge the little fantasy world he now inhabited. "Whatever."

"I bought you for a pack of cigarettes," Sideswipe announced, grinning maliciously at his twin. "You're mine!"

"Right," Sunstreaker said, easily dodging the attack as a blur of red zeroed in on him. He sidestepped, striking his brother across the back as he went sailing past. "Idiot."

Sideswipe regained his pedes and dropped into an attack stance. Sunstreaker revved his engine in warning, not in the mood to deal with his brother's idiocy. He was tired and cranky. Not a good combination with the golden warrior.

With a battle cry, Sideswipe launched himself into another attack, but Sunstreaker was ready for him. A few quick strikes, and some beautiful dance moves, Sunstreaker got the upper hand. With a mighty wrench he threw his brother over his shoulder. Sideswipe went flying into the wall next to the bars, the impact nearly stapling him into place. With a grinding screech he slowly fell from his perch and landed with a crunch on the floor.

"Oww," Sideswipe moaned.

The bars gave a flicker, the hum of their energy fluctuating in an aria worthy of an opera. Then with a few feeble jolts, the bars disappeared. A spark erupted from the control panel in the hall, which happened to be directly behind the Sideswipe-sized impression on the cell wall.

'_Sunstreaker to Prowl,'_ he commed.

'_Are you in the brig?'_ Prowl demanded without preamble.

'_Yes, but my Numb Nuts of a brother decided to be an idiot so I threw him against the wall, and it shorted out the bars,'_ Sunstreaker answered, uninterested about the whole situation. It was rather common-place by now.

Sunstreaker was graced with a long verbiage, most of it comprising his questionable parentage and intelligence of the troublesome duo. Then Prowl's comms went silent before his controlled monotone called over all bandwidths.

Suddenly Prowl's voice crackled over all Autobot comms. **"Attention Optimus Prime and all Autobots. I regret to inform you that I have decided to retire, owing to the fact that my mental capacity has been compromised and I need to find a proper facility that can assist in my recovery. My destination is northeast, probably Minnesota or Vermont, due to the fact they habitually receive excessive amounts of snow and the terrain is inhospitable to Lamborghinis. It has been an honor. Prowl out." **

"Slag," Sideswipe said, wincing as he gained his pedes. "I think we broke him."

Sunstreaker stood frozen, his expression unreadable.

"Course, I'm surprised it's taken us this long," Sideswipe laughed, joining his twin.

"Shut up," Sunstreaker muttered, turning on his heel and stalking out of the now useless brig.

Sideswipe wisely held his vocalizer and followed his brother, keeping a good pace behind him. It took a moment for him to realize their destination.

"Why are we going to see Prowl?" Sideswipe asked, his plating itching as the repair nanites set to work on his dents. "Isn't he kinda of pissed at us right now?"

Sunstreaker didn't bother knocking. He threw open the door and marched through without invitation. Prowl looked up blandly from his datapad, expelling a long gust of air through his vents. If he had a credit for every time either twin burst through his door unannounced, he could have retired from the Autobots after only a couple of months!

"What the slag was that all about?" Sunstreaker demanded.

Prowl didn't seem to be phased by the prospect of being a target for a highly dangerous and volatile mech. He carefully placed the datapad on the desk and intertwined his fingers, looking expectantly at the raging sun.

"My retirement?" Prowl asked mildly, finding the past few millennia to be settling heavy on his spark. "I thought it was quite obvious. I've had it. With the pranking, the jokes, the damage, the punishments, and the neverending disobedience that springs from you two Well of Miscreants."

Sunstreaker mentally flinched, knowing the SIC had a point. Sometimes they _did_ go a little too far. But it was all in good fun. It was never to get to this point.

Ever.

"Well, you'll just have to change your mind," Sunstreaker said, regaining his senses and glaring daggers at Prowl. "Because we took too long to train you and it's illogical to stop now. Besides," Sunstreaker added, leaning on the desk and looming over the black and white mech, "If you left, we'd just have to reformat and follow you to the ends of the Earth."

"Why? It's apparent you don't respect the Autobot code, nor myself. What could I possibly come back to?" Prowl asked, his doorwings doing a little dance along his back. He was now used to Sunstreaker invading personal space.

"Us. We won't lose you. Not like everyone else in this war. You're too important, and if you cant see that, well then, maybe you should schedule a check up with Ratchet, because you aren't leaving us. Ever." Sunstreaker punctuated his words with another fist to the desk, then spun and stomped out of the room.

Sideswipe gave a shrug of indifference and followed his twin. It was a moment later when Prowl noticed the datachip residing on his desk. Feeling a horrible sense of déjà vu, he inserted it in the terminal.

Prowl fully expected to find another video collection of gruesome attacks and the twins' obscene body count. What he found instead halted his breathing function.

The first major file was split into chronological order and various locations the Autobots had inhabited. Prowl clicked on the first file and was stunned to see the point of view of Sideswipe, whose vision was obscured with his first superior officer barking in his face. As soon as the officer turned, Sideswipe offered a very rude gesture to his retreating back, then turned to face the other bots in the assemblage.

Prowl couldn't stop the gasp from escaping.

There were at least fifty mechs, most of them looked newly upgraded. Several sprouted growth seams that shone brightly from the overhead lighting. They were milling about, talking, though their phantom words were lost on the video file, they sent frightened looks toward the area where the officer had disappeared. It was clear they were terrified.

So Sideswipe took action.

He captured their attention in grand fashion, and after a few choice words, had the crowd roaring and chanting, their faces slowly morphing into hope and excitement. The fear physically left their forms, leaving behind the young, impressionable youths they were intended to be. Though their words went unheard, Prowl could see the change in their demeanor from Sideswipe's point of view.

Sideswipe passed around high grade to the surrounding mechs, and gave them the sense of what camaraderie and combat brothers always share. When the group got overenergized, Sideswipe got them riled up again, singing and chanting, and only then did Prowl notice the Commanding Officer pushing his way through the crowd to grab the instigator.

Sunstreaker fought by his twin's side, but after a short vicious dance, both ended up in the infirmary. When they woke several days later, there was a data pad directing them to Prowl's office, where they were to receive a reprimand.

Prowl blinked in stunned silence. He remembered the fateful day some 4 million years ago. Before the twins had entered his office, he had just received word that an entire regiment was wiped out. The same regiment as the twins. As they had been laid up in med bay, their unit was deployed, and every one of those young faces had perished.

He had never known the circumstances behind the twins' first meeting. But upon watching the vid-file, he now understood why they had completely **demolished** the detention center that evening. Someone had told them the fate of their comrades. And the entire cell block had been rendered useless, the violence of their grief and mayhem leaving both twins in a barely functioning state.

Prowl remembered going to the brig and finding the devastation, a reprimand fully charging his circuits and near boiling his lines. Then he found the two responsible. And the look in two sets of optics as the medics stabilized them was enough to chill him to the core.

Now he knew why.

Curious as to the other file, Prowl opened it.

There were subfiles listed with every Autobot on the Ark, and few that were left on Cybertron. Prowl clicked on his own, and felt his fuel pump stall. They were battles he'd been party to, though not being much of a soldier, he still had his fair share of combat. His talents were better utilized behind the lines, directing the troops into weak areas and calculating possible outcomes. Nonetheless, and each file now flashing through the terminal was a record of every fight he'd been in. And the screen split to show two points of view as they took in the battle. Prowl was stunned to see the enemy creeping up on him unaware on more than one occasion, and each time, one of the twins protected his back.

A number graced the corner of each battle, though it had nothing to do with kills.

Prime, Jazz, Ironhide, Hound, even Gears had a file, each containing video where either twin would jump in to protect their friends, or take a shot that was intended for another. And every time they intervened, the number would turn over. Their number of interceptions were staggering. In Prowl's own file he was oblivious of the danger in every battle. Prowl skimmed through the data, gasping as his 'save' totaled more than four thousand since the first battle he shared with the twins.

Every confrontation, both twins would be watching the battle as a whole, keeping track of their friends as well as the enemy. It was a rather delicate and complicated system. Most Autobots, Prowl included, thought that the twins engaged in battles and attacked with no form of coherent pattern or underlying cause. It was merely a fight to damage or kill as many as possible. But now that he had this information, they're tactical patterns were….. staggering.

Many had commented on the twins' odd habit of jumping a seeker. They labeled it with all manner of unseemly titles, and many had questioned their motives, but Prowl could now see through the twins optics. They weren't attacking seekers for the sheer joy of it, though they **did** find some satisfaction in causing them harm during the ride. Instead, they used the bird's eye view to take in the battlefront as a whole, and make judgment calls that weren't possible if still stationed on the ground.

Every Autobot file showed the safe return of the subject. As the twins awaited their turn for repairs in the repair bay, there were varying degrees of injured mechs surrounding them, but each file witnessed the continued life of the subject. And Ratchet's temper.

But everyone was still functioning. And every file ended with the individual seated comfortably in the rec. room, talking with friends and enjoying the companionship and the ribbing of their comrades.

Prowl released a slow gust of air, his mind working through the number of 'saves' each twin had listed to their comrades. Their combined total was overwhelming. Prowl concluded that if not for the Twin Terrors, the Autobots would have lost the war long ago.

It wasn't about who had the biggest weapon, or the fastest engine, or most devious plan, or strategy and sheer numbers.

It was about looking out for the ones around you. Doing whatever was necessary to keep them functioning. Protecting them, even when they didn't know they were in danger. Willing to sacrifice their own lives, just to prevent the harm or termination of another.

Prowl ejected the datachip and placed it in his subspace, beside the one that had resided there for over four million years. Yes, the twins were a handful and seemed to thrive on chaos and exuded instability and mayhem, but they were also fiercely loyal, brave, and crazy enough to accomplish the impossible. Their dedication was sometimes questioned, but their results spoke in thunderous voice, as the sparks of their friends continued to burn.

Prowl closed his subspace, finding a warmth spread throughout his frame. He was granted a very rare gift, one he felt humbled to receive.

Prowl also knew that he would never be able to leave the Autobot ranks. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker would follow through on their threat, finding and dragging him back to the Ark. It wasn't out of spite or anger, or vengeance that they challenged him so vehemently. It was out of concern and probably, in their own way, love. If any one of their friends were alone, the twins couldn't keep an optic on them, and that was a scenario they refused to allow to happen. They were protectors and defenders, and they would beat the slag out of anyone who questioned their motives.

Prowl allowed a rare smile. Yes, he and everyone aboard the Ark were truly gifted. No one could have asked for better guardians. Prowl sent a quick communiqué to Prime, announcing his return to duty, to which Prime gave a 'whatever' and cut the transmission. He picked up his datapad and started back to work.

After all, _someone_ had to watch over the angelic demons that haunted the Autobot home.

**00000-ooooo-IIIII-00000-ooooo-IIIIII-000000**

This was a quick little ditty that came to mind while toiling over the other two fics currently making my life a living hell. I dream of Lambos. Wouldn't be so bad, but now they clog my mind and infiltrate my thoughts at the most inopportune times. I'm trying to catch up on writing the sequel to Aby of Darkness and another chapter for Lost Voices, but these little short fics are driving me nuts. Is there a cure for Lambo obsession? I need a healthy dose ASAP! Lol

Impressions are encouraged and feedback LOVED.

I'd appreciate any comments, even if you didn't like it and thought it tripe.


	16. Mission: Sundance

**Mission: Sundance**

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

"Do you want to dance?" Jazz asked the table of mechs seated in back of the rec room.

"No, thanks," Mirage said, grabbing a brightly colored cube of energon and sipping it.

Hound waved his hand in front of himself, his optics wide and terrified. "I don't dance, Jazz."

"Come on, Man. That's the whole point of these shindigs!" Jazz said, pointing to the middle of the room where Bumblebee was giving Tracks a lesson that mimicked the dance Spike and Carly were performing. "It's all about learning new things, expanding horizons, getting crazy from time to time."

"No, thanks," Mirage repeated, giving the newly installed dance floor a distasteful look. "Besides, these aren't true dances. They look more like electrocution or uncontrollable spasms."

"That's just the style," Jazz said, waving a dismissive hand.

"Lack thereof," Mirage amended, rolling his optics as Tracks tried a more complicated pattern and overbalanced, landing on his aft.

"You're just a stuffy bot," Jazz frowned, pointing to the far corner where Prime was currently trying to remember the correct steps to Ironhide's line dance. "See, even Prime's enjoying himself."

"Insufferable," Mirage huffed, finding the whole scene to be well below him.

"Everyone needs a way to cut loose sometime," Jazz said defensively, finding the rest of the Autobots acclimating just fine with the assortment of dances. Though Jazz was a little worried about Ratchet and his version of a fox trot. Wheeljack looked determined to keep up.

"Whatever happened to the old ways?" Prowl asked from the nearby table where he and Trailbreaker were watching Sideswipe perform some rather expressive street moves.

"The refined dances of Cybertron," Mirage added, his tone a little wistful. "Where society was at its best and moves were practiced until second nature."

"True dances," Prowl agreed, sipping on his energon. "The old ways have long since been forgotten I'm afraid."

Mirage gave the Praxian a look that clearly meant he didn't think Prowl held the proper breeding to know the intricate dances, let alone be allowed to perform with the social elite.

Sideswipe joined the group, bent double, grasping his lower back. "I think I hurt something."

"Your dignity?" Prowl asked as Jazz examined the carmine frontliner.

"Looks like you pulled a wire loose." Jazz offered after a moment of close scrutiny.

Sideswipe opened his mouth to ask for a remedy so he could return to the dance floor when Jazz took the initiative and twisted the wire back into place. Sideswipe let out a startled squawk but his pain subsided and he was able to return to an upright position.

"Thanks," Sideswipe said, turning back to the floor and wiggling his aft in time to the music Blaster was providing.

Sunstreaker chose that time to enter the rec room, his stern countenance flashing to the room at large. Sunny didn't like crowds, and liked loud music even less. The fact that so many were present and apparently enjoying themselves also gave him a magnified sense of anger.

"Here comes our little social butterfly," Jazz commented before Sunstreaker joined their table.

Sideswipe sauntered over to his brother, intent on pulling him into a dance, when the golden warrior placed his palm on his brother's face and gave a hard shove. Sideswipe went staggering back but laughed it off, knowing his brother just wasn't the dancing type. He was lucky he got off so easy. Sunny could just as easily ripped his pedes off and not giving it a second thought. He must have been in one of his more somber moods. Probably art related, if the irritated thrum in his spark was any indication. Sideswipe returned to his boogie without another thought.

Sunstreaker stalked up to the table, his gaze locked onto Prowl. "Do something about Red Alert before I do something drastic."

"What is he doing now that upsets you?" Prowl asked placidly, knowing Sunstreaker was fired up enough to go on a full out raging massacre.

"He refuses to okay the latest shipment of paint, saying it was from a district known for Decepticon activity," Sunstreaker spat. "He's gone too far!"

Prowl offered a slight incline of his head, his optics dimming to signal his internal comms to keep the frontliner assuaged.

"Disgusting," Mirage offered another sniff, watching the conglomeration of mechs trying to imitate human dances.

Sunstreaker glanced to the towers mech, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Relax, man. Mirage just doesn't like human dances," Jazz said, recognizing the situation and trying to defuse it before it exploded.

"They're appalling," Mirage added, nodding toward Ironhide who was hitching up imaginary pants and scuffing his pedes. "He looks like he stepped in something unpleasant."

There was a distant clang as Ratchet took out some frustration on an apparently rhythmless Wheeljack. The two started a mild argument that evaporated into another attempt at a fox trot.

"Mirage is a difficult mech to please," Jazz said, giving his special ops agent a long suffering look.

"We only allowed the timeless dances of old Cybertron to be performed in the Towers," Mirage supplied, resisting the urge to smack his CO. They had a long career together, and though they came from different backgrounds, they got along like old friends. Including the odd scuffle, shouting matches, and drunken nights that ended up with both in the brig. And once, even woke up to wearing pieces of each other's armor, though neither ever admitted to it.

"Not everyone was privileged enough to learn those, Tower Brat," Jazz teased with a roll of his optics.

"They were the only ones worth learning," Mirage supplied, giving the air a disdainful sniff.

"Well?" Sunstreaker demanded of Prowl, waiting for the Second in Command to finish his conversation with the Security Director.

"We seem to be having a disagreement," Prowl intoned, a slight frown forming.

"You out rank him. Threaten to send his aft to the brig!" Sunstreaker snapped.

"And have Ratchet beat **your** aft because Red fritzed out for being sent to the brig he always protects?" Jazz asked, optics wide.

"Might do him some good," Sunstreaker grumbled.

"Oh, for the love of all things honorable," Mirage moaned, burying his face in his servos.

Everyone turned to see what had made the tower mech so upset and there in the middle of the dance floor was the minibots, lead by Bumblebee, doing the 'robot' dance. Spike and Carly were laughing off to the side. Huffer and Cliffjumper looked ready to commit suicide, but kept the Volkswagen happy by finishing the dance. As soon as the music stopped, they bolted, earning a sad puppy dog look from Bumblebee who shouted something about a 'sprinkler'.

"Is it safe to look?" Mirage asked from behind his hands, refusing to take the first wave of assurances.

A low growl came from Prowl, indicating his rising fury. His optics brightened, signaling his cut connection, and if the drawn brow and slight snarl were any indication, he didn't get any further with Red Alert than Sunstreaker's last attempt. He pushed off from the table, his hands shoving the half finished cube of mid-grade away. His optics dimmed again in a last ditch effort to appeal to Red Alert.

"See what I mean?" Sunstreaker felt it necessary to say. He pulled his gaze from Mirage, who was going through a plethora of emotions.

"Oh, sweet Primus, I think I'm going to self terminate," Mirage said with exaggerated disgust.

"If you don't like it, go show them a thing or two," Hound said, getting a little miffed at the Tower Mech's attitude.

"I don't think the commoners would know what to do if they saw a traditional dance of the elite," Mirage said, earning a mixture of looks. Prowl was the only one who didn't seem to mind the conversation. Even Jazz was giving his subordinate a cross look.

"Too important for the _lower class_, huh?" Sunstreaker asked with a half sneer. He really didn't get along with the Tower Mech. The twins were raised on the streets of Kaon and fought in the gladiator rings when debts had nearly ended both their lives from 'unsavory' characters.

"Precisely," Mirage said, not catching the sarcasm directed toward him from multiple angles. "Hardly a proper dance when only Prime and myself would be allowed to join."

"Complicated?" Sunstreaker asked, not noticing Prowl's gaze returned to normal and join the conversation.

"The more ancient dances were performed only by the upper class, usually led by Prime," Mirage recited, his optics going distant as he remembered times past. "The Prime would step forward, begin the dance, where the next dancer, usually his mate, would join him, mirroring his movements."

The collected mechs remained silent, allowing the Tower mech to reminisce.

"When they moved as one, it was beautiful," Mirage said, his voice going soft with memory. "Then the elite would fall into their rightful position, joining the ranks, their bodies blending with the most prestige, until everyone was moving as one. Sometimes there were over a thousand mechs moving in time to the ancient rhythm."

"Sounds awesome," Jazz commented only half heartedly. He was a little irked that he himself wasn't one of the privileged few who had witnessed, let alone participated in the dance that seemed to mean so much to the Tower mech.

Prowl offered a grunt, his optics narrowing as he received an update from Red Alert. Apparently the nervous Lamborghini was only half way through his security checks and thought the Second should be made aware of a strange substance that was now slowly leaking from the package.

"What could be leaking that's considered a possible Decepticon threat?" Prowl wondered out loud, without realizing who was nearby.

"It's probably linseed oil," Sunstreaker growled. "Prowl, you have to admit, this is going too far! He's threatening my paints with his errant paranoia. Who knows how long he's had them in his office!"

"Point taken," Prowl admitted with a grudge. His optics dimmed for a moment before he returned his attention back to Sunstreaker. "I have informed Red Alert that his safety measures are adequate and that he is causing a health and safety issue by allowing your personal property to come to ruin and that he may be responsible for the items lost."

"Slagging right he will be," Sunstreaker muttered, already guessing which color was losing its cohesion. Cadmium yellow was just as temperamental as the artist which is probably why he preferred it.

"Would you like to join me in retrieving your property?" Prowl asked, knowing how volatile Sunstreaker could be when his art was involved. It wasn't a good idea to send the frontliner alone when he could snap at any moment.

"Yes," Sunstreaker said, motioning for Prowl to lead the way. The two barely reached the middle of the room when Sunstreaker got an idea. He grabbed Prowl's wrist, earning a startled beep. When Prowl turned to face him, he muttered, "Wait until the fourth count, then do the opposite."

Prowl stood transfixed, unable to comprehend what the sociopathic Lamborghini was saying, when Sunstreaker got that abnormal glint in his optic. Prowl prayed his battle computer wouldn't crash as he watched Sunstreaker move in slow motion, turning left, then right, dipping on one knee, then taking three steps forward, one to the right. Prowl gave a slight nod, following suit, mirroring the golden warrior step for step.

Though the rhythms were foreign, Sunstreaker's pace seemed to blend the ancient Cybertronian dance into something that could adapt to the odd pulse of the Earth music that Blaster was providing.

Prowl kept his gaze locked onto Sunstreaker, calculating the next move, his own movements slightly delayed as he learned the steps to a dance that had thought been long dead. He was barely aware of someone else joining their steps and when he swayed left, he caught the Prime's brilliant red armor glinting beside his right shoulder in perfect tandem.

Step, step, sweep. Arch to the side, glide three paces and turn, perfectly synced with the other partners of the dance. Ratchet joined next, having witnessed the dance from the Golden Age, though he had never been allowed to join until now. His moves were a little awkward at first, but after a minute, he settled into a natural rhythm, allowing the music and the ancient steps to be centered by the leader in his rightful place.

Bumblebee watched with wide optics, unable to comprehend the complexity of the motions and all seemed to move as one. A seamless unit, choreographed through the ages and only practiced by those of breeding and power. Moves that looked far too complicated and cumbersome were performed with ballet-like ease. The bulk of armor and gruffness associated with war-time mechs evaporated, replaced by graceful, flowing lines, gentle sweeps, elegant dips, all matched to a perfect elegance.

Sideswipe stepped forward, unaffected by the magnitude of the occasion. Three steps later, he was lost in the moment, sweeping to and fro, bowing to the music, twisting to the time, the rhythm flowing through his lines as easily as any nobles. He had attended only one such dance in his life, but the moves were forever etched in his processor. Now that social caste was virtually eliminated by a more liberal Prime, the 'common' frontliner could participate, and there would be no reprimand from the upper echelon.

And if Mirage said anything, Sideswipe would be more than happy to punch the mech's face in.

Blaster had managed to reset the beat of the Earth music, making it match the perfect sweep of the Cybertronian dance. He had witnessed a couple of the gatherings before, but being like most of the other mechs on the Ark, he wasn't considered _refined _enough to be taught or allowed to participate in the ancient ceremony. A few seconds later, he too was lost in memory, gliding to the rhythm of a world long forgotten.

The music faded.

The few gathered mechs who had performed were under the spell of the dance, unable to move and break ranks lest they'd lose that part of their heritage forever. A moment passed of complete silence.

Then as he had begun the choreographed tradition, Sunstreaker offered a brisk nod to Prowl and exited the room, the Second in Command soon following.

A stunned silence followed them. Sideswipe felt his spark pang in regret and grabbed of cube of mid-grade from the dispenser and join the table where Prowl had vacated. He downed the Second's cube without thought, then downed his own, shifting so his pedes rested on the chair opposite.

When he looked to the table beside of him, Mirage and Hound were giving him looks of shocked incredulity.

"What?" Sideswipe asked, eyeing the cube in Prime's hand as he neared the table.

"Where did Sunstreaker learn to dance like that?" Prime asked before Mirage could formulate the words.

Mirage sputtered a moment, trying to recollect his wits and added, "How could a _**commoner**_ perform that dance? It was only for the upper class!"

"Sunny's been around," was all Sideswipe would say before he got up for another cube. He could hear the cogs working in Mirage's privileged processor and added, "Nothing like patterns and poise to capture an artist's attention. I have a feeling he could show **you** a thing or two about refinement."

Without another word, Sideswipe left a very surprised yet confused Tower brat, a gratefully amused Prime, and a secretly proud Ratchet.

**000000-OOOOO-IIIIIII-000000-OOOOOO-IIIIII-0000000**

Speaking as someone who lives with an artist, its true. They can pick out patterns and complicated rhythms like no other and it really drives me nuts sometimes.

And I really wanted to put Mirage in his place. He seems to be such a stuffy prat that I want to slap him silly and what better way to best someone who thinks they are of the upper class than to bring them down a few pegs and have a street dwelling waif show that they too can be sophisticated and "lordly".

Money and power doesn't make a person better than anyone else.


	17. Sunstroke

**Sunstroke**

**Rated: T (**suggestive adult situations**)**

**Yes, I decided to update earlier as a way of saying THANKS for the reviews. They fuel the muse and allow me to get my butt in gear and edit the random stuff I have piled up in in a folder. Hopefully, this wont disappoint. **

**Enjoy!**

**00000-oooo-iiiii-00000-oooooo-iiiiii-000000-ooooo-iiiiiii-000000**

Sunstreaker stretched liked a contented cat, his engine purring. It was rare to find the citrine twin in an affable mood, and having the day off while his brother worked a double shift due to a misinterpreted prank, meant the golden warrior was feeling particularly good this morning. He stretched the length of the berth, hearing the pops and groans associated with his elegant frame and mentally counted off their sequence. With a disgruntled moan he slipped off the berth, his pedes making a dull ringing noise. Usually he would have spent the day curled up on his berth, enjoying some of the freedom he had from his twin.

Sideswipe's constant presence could be irritating, especially when he was in one of his pranking moods, or wishing to vent frustration, anger, excitement, or any of the other emotions that plagued Sunstreaker's other half. Sideswipe led his life by emotions, Sunstreaker preferred to slaughter everything and let the cosmic forces sort out the carnage.

Eyeing his paints he felt a tinge of remorse, having used up three of his favorites colors during his last intense artistic 'Sideswipe-free' hours. The paints were on backorder, so Sunstreaker was metaphorically stuck in an artistic rut until his supply could be refilled.

Guess that meant he just had to work on his gorgeous body.

Grabbing a can of special solvent, ordered only via secured connection to a very selective dealer, Sunstreaker headed for the washracks. It was midmorning, and most bots had either come off of duty, or were already on shift. Those who had free time were probably with friends, enjoying the various activities each enjoyed. Many of the bots had a bet going with Smokescreen on who could collect the most human friends, using their charm, wit, and overall genial nature to win friendships. So far, Jazz was in the lead thanks to his musical ties.

Sunstreaker didn't have friends, Cybertronian or human. He had Sideswipe. That was enough for him. He didn't need to make friends and socialize with everyone and expect the world to cater to his eccentricities. He didn't need someone else to enjoy the same things, or expect him to be friendly and warm and all those loathsome things that made Sunstreaker's plating crawl.

He entered the washracks, closing the door with a soft click and switching on the 'occupied' light so no one would walk in on him if he chose to indulge in any questionable activities. The light had been installed by Wheeljack when several of the crew members were caught running around the wash racks in their protoform. It was a very delicate situation, as most of the mechs were very self conscious about their personal appearance. Sunstreaker had to admit, it was when one was at their most vulnerable. But sometimes, when Earthen debris and gunk filled sensitive joints, one had to strip down to clean themselves properly, then attend their armor before reinstallation. No one wanted to be perceived as weak and helpless, regardless of the fact they all were built along the same lines with the same equipment and faults.

Of course, Sunstreaker never admitted to having such faults. He had a few minor 'inconveniences' but never anything like what the other mechs shared. He was perfect. Well, as close to it as anyone could possibly get.

Sunstreaker turned on the showers, letting the steam fill the small room before he stepped under the spray. Methodically he cleaned, lavishing the solvent over his body and scrubbing until it shone like a gilded mirror. He was washing his face when he heard it.

A soft click, like that of a door being opened.

Sunstreaker allowed a soft smile, knowing what was to come. He had expected such a visit, though was a little perturbed it had taken the arrival so long. Without acknowledging the sound he continued to wash, his hands tracing his lines in an entrancing manner. The motion had the desired effect.

A hand brushed his shoulder, caressing the golden panel before slipping beneath the seam to a very sensitive junction.

Sunstreaker gasped into the exploration. The water fell across his shoulders, making it appear as if the gold was melting in response to the touch. With fleeting consideration he slammed his firewalls and mental barriers into place, lest Sideswipe be overcome. He never wanted to share these encounters. They were his, and his alone.

The finger lightly stroked the wires, feeling the cables flex with the building tension. A smile formed on the shadowed face as the finger withdrew from its place to begin tracing lazy patterns down the arm, where Sunstreaker readily offered himself without thought. Though he exuded a sense of danger and mistrust, he secretly enjoyed being touched. And times like this, where peace and quiet reigned, he was more susceptible to the advances. It was a time that he was rarely granted, so when the opportunity presented itself, he was more than happy to accommodate.

The digit left his shoulder, grazing his chestplate, and for a brief moment he wondered if the water would damage his spark if he was ever inclined to expose it. The question left his processor when the hand applied pressure, turning him around.

This game had been played for nearly as long as Sunstreaker could remember. And though he preferred to properly court and berth any potential mate, he found his excitement double as he relinquished control. It was nice to have someone else direct your body. Use it to their advantage. Make it theirs, possessing it with such a ferocity you lose yourself in their passion.

Oh yes. Sunstreaker enjoyed these encounters. He would never give them up, not as long as his spark beat.

The beads of water slid sensuously over his arms and the finger gentled pushed, directing his path.

Some warrior. Moved so easily and so compliant. And all with a single, commanding finger.

The wall to the shower greeted his back. Now the water ran over his face. He braced himself against the wall, relinquishing control to his manipulator. Beautiful, crystalline tears tracing the perfect visage of a mechanical god. His lips parted, feeling the beading sensation tickle his face, the water sliding down the smooth column of his throat. He kept his optics closed, relishing the sensations.

It was better this way. No need for optic contact or even affirmation of another presence. Just hands, and the delicious sensations they offered. There was no reason for words or pleasantries. Their touch was far too familiar for such a trivial thing.

No, all that mattered was the delicate strokes, the pressure, and the promise they held.

He was helpless, suspended in wanton need, to be owned and pleasured at a whim. And always, he was to submit. Never speak, never return touches. A blind, mute, helpless drone that centered its being on an elusive touch.

The finger soon became a hand, pressing in all the right places. Across the golden chest, lightly skittering over the Autobot sigil that observed the proceedings, and down across abdominal plating that contracted with the light ministrations. A hiss escaped before Sunstreaker could stop himself, and a weakness stole over his body. For a fleeting moment he wondered if he should slide to the floor, just in case his strength waned and he ended up scratching his beautiful paint. The thought left his processor when the hand slid down, lightly grazing the top of Sunstreaker's interface panel. He pressed into the wall, determined to maintain his self control.

He was a strong, capable warrior that destroyed more sparks than he'd care to admit. Nimble body, agile, though dark, mind. A haunted spirit that lashed out. A merciless killing machine that harbored no feelings of belonging and camaraderie other than what was sensed through the other half of his lifeforce. The only solace found was the other half of his spark that beat within another. No other mattered.

And then there was the rare, often sought moments such as this.

Where everything else faded away. There was no war. No suffering. No desire for death and destruction. No inkling of revenge and hatred. There was only peace. And the mesmerizing sensations that flittered over a battle-worn soul, soothing away the ache and pain and the fear. Quelling all thirst for vengeance and animosity. All held so tenderly in the talented hands of a phantom lover.

The hand massaged the edges of the panel, and Sunstreaker gasped, breath escaping in puffs from his vents. He groaned, finding the pressure to be achingly sweet. The heat coming from his frame was enough to cause the now cooling water to create steam. The hand cupped the heated metal, digits slipping between the seams in a slow, tantalizing request.

He obeyed, retracting the panel, his spike pressurizing instantly. The cooling water danced along his spike, eliciting a sharp intake, but it was quickly replaced by a sputtering gasp.

Fingers lightly caressed the tip of the spike, delicately spreading the drop of lubricant and stimulating the cluster of sensor nodes. His body gave an involuntary twitch, vents hitching in response. The fingers wrapped possessively around his spike, offering the faintest of pressure, before beginning its journey of discovery.

Sunstreaker could only pant in total submission, his memory automatically fixating on an encounter long ago of a particularly memorable pleasure house that only catered to the ultra-wealthy and influential. Sunstreaker's notoriety had garnered him more accolades and credits than any other artist on record, so naturally, his tastes were a little more discriminatory. He visited the pleasure house regularly, and always asked for the same femme. Many had called him a berth hopper and would have been greatly disappointed to learn the real truth.

Sunstreaker had been quite attached to the extremely talented little femme. Her black and silver body highlighted his in perfect tandem, and when his spike was sheltered in her valve, amazing things happened. He didn't know what was in there, or how she manipulated her body, but she had been the only one to bring him to such heights.

Just the thought of her valve and the little pleasurable gasps she made his processor spin. The hand grasped his spike, earning a hissing protest and making Sunstreaker focus on the present.

Finding an attentive audience once more, the hand circled, giving a slight twist to the tip, then undulated the fingers down the spike, tracing over the complex nodes and convoluted grooves.

It took all of Sunstreaker's self control not to thrust into that delicious sensation, but he prided himself on being able to withhold his pleasure. Keeping himself blissfully teetering with macho arrogance, giving his partner extended satisfaction, and in turn, ensuring his designation would grace their lip components for a long time. It would be an added bonus if his name _slipped_ between pleasured gasps while with other partners. And then the realization that all other partners paled in comparison to the gorgeous golden mech.

Sunstreaker smirked to himself. Damn, he was good. And gorgeous, and Primus if he wasn't already racing to the climax at an alarming speed! Perhaps the prolonged absence of attention was to blame for his abnormally fast finish, but he gritted his denta, determined to withhold as long as he could.

Normally he'd love taking the checked flag, but this was a race he wasn't willing to end just yet.

A long drawn purr vibrated in his chest at the thought of racing. It always did a mech's ego good to push themselves to the limit, thunder above the competition, feel the road roughly beneath you as the wind caressed your grill. The roar of the crowd, the cheers of exultation, every voice chanting your designation in a sultry mantra and the enticing femmes screaming for you and willing to do anything you desire.

Their bodies. Their curves. The heat and tightness and the delicious sounds they made when he touched them. The feel of their slight bodies being molded to his much more powerful, dominating frame. The image of one femme in particular stood out in his fantasy. Her frame was slightly smaller than his, with black and silver plating, and melodic sounds coming from her vocalizer as he felt that wonderful valve welcome him without hesitation.

Sunstreaker moaned, and without warning, a sudden tight warmth enveloped his spike, and by Primus if it didn't feel almost identical to the valve of the pleasure bot. The rhythm was slightly off and there was a distinct tightness near the middle of the spike, and not on the end, where the main clusters of sensors were located. It was close enough though.

Sunstreaker felt his resolve crumble.

He tilted his head back against the wall, allowing the cool water to caress his face as the first wave of his overload tingled his sensor net. He wanted so badly to grasp a body and bury himself so deep he'd need a map to find his way back into his own processor, but that type of interaction wasn't permitted. He wasn't allowed to see nor touch. Merely be a puppet to very talented hands that were master of his world.

Instinctually he thrust toward the clenching heat, the added friction triggering the final stages of his overload. Several short grunts erupted as the heat tightened in response. With his body rattling with violent tremors, Sunstreaker thrust, circling his hips, jaw clenched as he rode out the rolling pleasure.

With a feral growl his body went rigid, his transfluid being lovingly drawn from his body.

As all conscious thought left, his mind broke wide open and unwillingly flooded the bond with his unsuspecting twin.

Up in the command hub, Sideswipe suddenly keened, his vocalizer pitching a series of delicious adjectives as his body jerked three times, before he faceplanted on the keyboard, completely unconscious. He remained motionless, the sound of his systems shutting down into recharge filling the silence.

Every one present stared in shock and confusion. A small voice in the back called out, "What in the name of Primus was that all about?"

**00000-oooo-iiiii-00000-oooooo-iiiiii-000000-ooooo-iiiiiii-000000**

So, was Sunstreaker or alone or with someone? It's up to you. I didn't really elaborate either way. author does a happy dance

I'm not the best when it comes to this type of genre, but I'm very proud of myself for actually completing it. And I didn't laugh as much as I normally do when writing such things.

If you would like to see a bit more 'adult' adventures in the future, review and let me know. I have to have at least **ten** 'yes!' to even consider it. Like I said in "Aby of Darkness", this type of genre really isn't my strength. And I wrote this before I started on Aby, so go figure!

And a **HUGE THANK YOU** to those who continue to show support/Fav/ REVIEW/ and Alert this fic and the others that I'm proud of. (Aby of Darkness, I Swear, and Lost Voices) Most Fav and Reviewers follow all the fics and I just cant express how much your thoughts, ideas, suggestions have inspired and influenced me. I appreciate it on a cosmic scale.

(Throws pictures of naughty Lamborghinis)


	18. Inside Out

**Inside Out**

**AN: Going to do some DRAMA. Hold on tight!**

**00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00**

"_**Dad?"**_

Prowl shuttered his optics and gave a weary sigh through his vents. _**"Yes, Sunstreaker?"**_

"_**Sideswipe is trying to sneak out of base again."**_

"_**Tell your brother that I said he is to remain on base until the speeding tickets are taken care of."**_

"_**Will do,"**_ Sunstreaker said, pausing for a moment before adding, _**"Can I hit him?"**_

"_**Only if he hits you first,"**_ Prowl said, doing his best to suppress a grin.

Two weeks ago there had been a skirmish with the Decepticons that had started at a power station three blocks away, and ended up with the twins at the mall. The duo had decided the day was perfect for surfing on seekers, Sideswipe having wrested his position on top of Starscream, Sunstreaker latching onto an irritated Skywarp. It didn't go according to Sideswipe's brilliant plan. Luckily it was just after daybreak, so the mall was thankfully empty.

Sideswipe was dumped in the food court by a laughing Starscream, who Sideswipe was sure enjoyed the midair tussles with the turbulent twins. Sunstreaker ended up in a department store. When he tried to get up, the second floor crashed onto his head, knocking him cold.

Sunstreaker awoke in medbay sometime later, and for reasons the Second In Command and Medic couldn't understand, Sunstreaker believed Prowl to be his creator. At first Ratchet and Prowl thought Sunstreaker was faking, hoping to gain sympathy or get away with something that would normally include brig time. However, Sunstreaker obeyed every command given to him by his new 'father,' never questioning him and going about his duties without complaint.

The rest of the Command staff weren't buying it, so Prowl thought of a way to test Sunstreaker's conviction, or as Jazz put it, his _defectiveness of processor_. Prowl asked Sunstreaker where Sideswipe's illegal high grade still was located, something the Second had been trying to find since the twins joined their unit. And to Prowl's surprise and Sideswipe's infuriated anger, Sunstreaker told his adoptive parent the location.

Sideswipe didn't talk to Sunstreaker for three days after that, course he was confined to the brig. Not once did Sunstreaker go to see his twin and when Sideswipe learned of his brother's little 'glitch', he forgave the citrine menace with both fists. Thankfully Sunstreaker was able to defend himself, even calmly sending an alert to Prowl to give him an update on his brother's apparent need to 'knock some sense into him,' and had watched with smug satisfaction as Sideswipe was lead into the brig….. again. Jazz mentioned something about a new record and Sideswipe proceeded to abuse everyone's audios with obscenities.

Prowl was secretly thrilled to have a constant spy on the resident troublemaker. Sunstreaker gave regular updates and always politely asked his 'father' for course of action. That should have concerned the Second, but he was so elated with the positive results, it didn't register.

Sideswipe resented his traitorous brother. Prowl enjoyed the nearly stress free environment associated with twin antics. Prime and Ratchet were amused by the whole situation, the medic sometimes referring to the tactician as 'Pops.' Sunstreaker strutted around the base, proudly, thinking his father favored him over his twin. It was a nice change, though Prowl would rather sever a limb than admit it out loud.

Sideswipe had been foiled at every turn, no matter how well he planned or blackmailed others into his service. Sunstreaker always reported his adventures to Prowl and puffed like a peacock when publicly praised.

"_**Let me know if he's up to anything**_**,"** Prowl said through the comm., though he knew Sunstreaker would anyway.

"_**Yes, Dad,"**_Sunstreaker answered cutting the connection. His voice had sounded a little strange, but Prowl passed it off as nothing important.

Prowl allowed a small smile. He could definitely get used to this. The smile was still in place a couple minutes later when a black and white frame slipped into the room, datapad in hand.

"Stop smirking. Looks unnatural on you," Jazz snorted, entering the tactician's office without knocking.

Prowl schooled his features, accepting the datapad Jazz offered. Jazz eyed his best friend carefully, trying to gauge his mood. He had noticed a trend developing lately with the other black and white. It usually involved someone who was now acting like a golden surveillance drone.

"You were talking to Sunstreaker, weren't you?"

"Why might you ask such a question?" Prowl asked, turning on the screen and seeing Jazz's barely understandable scribble.

"Because I've noticed lately that when you talk to our resident sociopath, you've been rather chipper."

"Chipper?"

"Well, more buoyant anyway. Just like you got new shocks and are bouncing along."

"I don't bounce."

"I disagree."

Prowl opened his mouth to argue, but his comm. crackled again.

"_**Dad, I had to hit Sideswipe."**_

"_**What did he do?"**_

"_**He tried to sneak out again, and when I tried to stop him, he punched me."**_

"_**So you hit him back?"**_

"_**You said I could."**_

"_**Yes, I did,"**_ Prowl gave Jazz an exasperated look, though the saboteur wasn't privy to the conversation on the private freq. _**"Where is he now?"**_

"_**Lying in the hall outside our quarters."**_Sunstreaker answered, not sounding remorseful. _**"I knocked his aft out."**_

Before Prowl could respond, the cacophony of klaxons went off. Red Alert's voice crackled over the intercom, giving updates to the latest Decepticon attack. Prime called for able soldiers, Ratchet snarled about inconvenience of attacks and how no one better sustain mortal wounds or he may not fix them this time. As Prowl and Jazz raced to the entrance of the Ark to join their comrades, Sunstreaker nearly ran them over in his exuberance.

"You're not on duty," Prowl barked as the soldiers assembled.

"I can do what I want on my down time." Sunstreaker answered, his circuits singing with the thought of battle. He'd been left out of the recent tussle due to his apparent mental 'issues', and he was itching to get back into the mix.

"But not to engage the enemy. That's against protocol." Prowl growled, giving the golden warrior a fifthly look.

"How I chose to spend my free time is up to me, correct?" Sunstreaker countered. Then offered a cheeky grin, "Prime needs as many soldiers as possible, so I'm just going along for back up."

"Stop fussing and roll out already," Ironhide snapped, pointing to the already transformed mechs who were starting to leave.

Prowl took after Prime and Jazz, Sunstreaker taking pace immediately behind him. Ironhide growled, but didn't voice his irritation. He usually kept pace behind Prime, the twins and other sporty models zipping out front to take point. It was odd Sunstreaker chose to remain behind Prime, who had to move at a much slower pace due to his bulk and trailer. Ironhide did notice the golden warrior stayed rather close to the tactician. The weapons master had an inkling and the thought almost made him laugh. No one could image reserved, stoic, strict Prowl being a creator. Why Sunstreaker chose to imprint on the tactician was a mystery.

The crew thought it a little strange as well. Some commented on the fact that the irrational behavior was a sign that the citrine twin had finally cracked. Smokescreen had reverted to his earlier profession of physiologist and pronounced the mech to be perfectly sane.

Course he still couldn't say why the anti-social menace was suddenly so polite and obeying all the rules, but it was a welcomed change all around. The crew got to know him better, his social skills vastly improved, and he stayed out of trouble, even volunteered to assist others in their work, performing all tasks and duties without Autobot complaints.

Well, Sideswipe complained. Constantly.

He insisted Sunstreaker was broken and several times demanded that Ratchet fix him.

No one could understand why he adopted Earth's lingo toward his perceived parent. Most of the time he referred to Prowl as "Dad", but when he was particularly bothered by something, he resorted to the Cybertronian idiom of "Creator." Several times Prowl got the distinct feeling the yellow Lamborghini wanted to say something, but for reasons unknown, Sunstreaker always held his vocalizer.

Which was a good thing, because Prowl wasn't comfortable with being someone's creator. His unexpected parentage already caused two processor crashes, and both times was to wake up with Sunstreaker's bedside vigil.

Jazz remarked that it was cute. Prowl thought it was creepy. Sideswipe, when he found out after being released from the brig, thought it proved his brothers metal illness. It all culminated into a huge fight in the medical ward that had Ratchet kick everyone out, then comm. Prime to announce his immediate retirement.

"Look out, Dad!" Sunstreaker yelled, transforming in a blur and launching himself at the incoming seekers.

The battle wasn't its normal stock footage type reel where the Autobots and Decepticons tussled, Megatron getting his aft handed to him by Prime. At first, the two ageless combatants grappled in their normal dance, exchanging blows and insults. Then something odd happened. Megatron overpowered Prime, sending the Autobot leader crashing into two of his soldiers. The others jumped to his defense, but Megatron knocked them aside like sparklings. He stalked toward his dazed rival, red optics glowing in triumph. No one noticed the in air collision between Starscream and Thundercracker. Skywarp had teleported away at the last possible second.

Prime's equilibrium recalibrated, his optics focusing just in time to see Megatron tower above him. Two groans behind him indicated the ones that cushioned his fall were still stunned.

Megatron's cannon leveled, his lines already singing in his impending victory. It was a long time coming, and he intended to savor every delicious second. His processor was charging, documenting his victory and the precise time the Decepticon's became victorious. The fall of the Autobots and the reign of the Decepticons.

Time slowed. The sounds of the battled faded away into ghosts. The two enemies stared into each others optics. The triumph, the pain, the struggle, the success, the elation, the regret, all mirrored and reflected, one in anguish, the other in delight.

And out of no where, a golden flash and time resumed its natural pace.

Sunstreaker jumped on Megatron's back, his feet connecting with the warlords lower back, staggering him and causing him to lose his only chance to end the long war. Megatron twisted right, then left, trying to get a hold on the menace now pounding along his head and neck. Sunstreaker was a seasoned warrior, and after so much practice, he was well adept to evading capture. It was convenient he was able to get the drop on the larger mech. Sunstreaker wasn't much of a shot, preferring to use his fists and do what comes naturally to his instinctual programming.

Fists flying, Sunstreaker shifted, keeping away from the warlords groping digits. The white metal dented, small fissures forming along the neck and shoulder. Sunstreaker concentrated all his malice on the largest crack in the armor, occasionally landing a blow to the back of the head to disorient his victim.

With vice like fingers, Sunstreaker wrenched the metal back. It peeled with a sickening screech, exposing cables and wires. Without thought, Sunstreaker buried his hand into the vitals displayed and began twisting. Megatron sputtered, the renting wires sending out spastic jerks. He hissed, twisting desperately, and felt the grim satisfaction of a wheeled ankle. He grabbed with his right hand, gripping hard enough to leave impressions and jerked hard.

Sunstreaker's hand was full of wires and one feebly twitching gear when he felt something grab his ankle. Knowing he was out of time, he buried his hand into the exposed left shoulder. When the force of his dislodging removed him from his perch, his hand was grasping cables, wires, and a tiny little black box that glowed faintly before going dark.

Megatron faltered, his systems fritzing as he threw the golden warrior from him. Sunstreaker landed in a heap, slow to get up, his systems protesting the brunt force of his landing. Dazed, Sunstreaker looked up just in time to see Megatron point his cannon.

A blinding flash, followed by the most intense pain Sunstreaker could remember and everything slowed to a halt. Sunstreaker stared numbly, unable to move, a thin curl of smoke issuing from the large gaping hole in his chest.

The simple act of discharging his cannon sent Megatron reeling. He stumbled, his damaged shoulder sending sparks cascading into a beautiful fireworks display. Soundwave grabbed his now injured leader as Starscream called for a retreat, one wing bent awkwardly.

"It's okay, Sunstreaker," Ratchet was saying, though Sunstreaker couldn't register the words or notice the worried tone. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

Those words alone should have alerted Sunstreaker to the extent of the damage, but nothing entered his frozen processor. He felt someone gently lower him to the ground and recognized Ratchet leaning over him, but the grim look the medic wore, the desperate tone of his comrades, the words being spoken, all seemed light years away.

"How bad, Ratchet?" Prime asked, though he had a notion due to the flickering light emanating from Sunstreaker's chest.

"Spark chamber's been breached," Ratchet rattled, his tone slightly frantic. His hands were flying over the wound, soldering off hemorrhaging lines, siphoning out volatile fluids, and trying to keep his patient alive. "Contaminants in his spark, which is causing a residual cascade failure. If I can't stabilize the cascade, we'll lose him."

"Just give the word, Ratchet," Jazz said, where he leaned against Prowl. Jazz's windshield was busted, his bumper crumpled, one arm bent awkwardly, red paint highlighting his monochromatic features. The Porsche had taken the brunt of his leader's impact when Megatron sent him flying. Bumblebee had cushioned Jazz's fall, but the little yellow scout was only disoriented and lightly scratched.

"We need to get him home," Ratchet said, his fingers extending into a welder. Without thought he removed a piece of his forearm armor and carefully placed it over the gaping hole in Sunstreaker's chest. "We need to get him to Sideswipe. He has the strongest spark and can filter the impurities and help Sunstreaker's spark to stabilize."

Sunstreaker remained motionless, staring blankly into the distance. It was very unnerving to see the golden warrior so peaceful and meek.

"I need to hook him to someone who can help regulate his systems," Ratchet explained, carefully soldering his armor into place. Had Sunstreaker been his usual self, he would have commented on the medical white clashing with his paint.

"I'll do it," Jazz said, forgetting about his own predicament.

"You can't," Ratchet said after a brief scan of the saboteur. "You're injured and have several compromised systems. It's not life threatening, but it could become so if you try to sustain another life."

Jazz started to protest, but Prowl cut across. "I can assist Sunstreaker. We have similar base designs."

Ratchet nodded, his processor already finding Prowl to be a compatible substitute. "He's stable for now. The sooner we get back to base, the better."

Prime transformed, his trailer opening to accept the injured. Prowl helped Ratchet carry Sunstreaker inside, where Ratchet opened ports along both warriors and connected the makeshift life support. Prowl hovered over the fallen warrior, his systems taking a few seconds to accept their new parameters. Jazz was ordered inside by Ironhide, who argued that since the Porsche was unable to transform, he would take forever to walk back to base. Jazz reluctantly agreed.

As soon as the trailer door closed, Sunstreaker gasped. A low whine issued from the dark.

"What have I done?" Sunstreaker's voice was a mere whisper in the dark. "I'm sorry. I'll do better. I promise."

Jazz turned on his only functioning headlight, illuminating the most intense moment he could ever remember. Sunstreaker was staring at the ceiling, his face a mask of worry, shame, regret, and fear. His frame lightly rattled from the tremors coursing through him. The two Commanding Officers had a feeling it had nothing to do with his physical injuries.

"I'll try to do better. I promise," Sunstreaker muttered the mantra repeatedly, his voice breaking with emotion.

Prowl grasped Sunstreaker's clutching hand in both of his own, his doorwings drawing down in a protective canopy. His face was set in its ever stoic poise, but Jazz could see by the dim lighting, that something was in Prowl's optics. Determination. Resolution. Absolution. Jazz was suddenly struck by an old Earth legend, and he never thought he'd see a true vision. Prowl's protectiveness, his resolve, his doorwings sweeping in an elegant arch, protecting an honorable soul that lay shattered in the darkness.

A true archangel to be feared.

"I'm sorry," Sunstreaker whispered again, not seeing reality but somewhere else entirely. Another place and time, long forgotten, except in moments of anguish, then they were just as fresh and raw as when they were first inflicted.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Prowl was saying, not liking the situation. Emotions weren't his forte, so the SIC tried to avoid them at all costs, especially ones that required delicate handling to protect innocent sparks from being shattered. One poorly worded thought, and the world could dissolve in a never-ending vortex of misery. For both parties involved, though usually Prowl crashed and was saved a lot of negative emotional feedback.

"Sorry," Sunstreaker muttered, his optics flickered.

"Don't fall into recharge," Prowl blurted, calibrating his systems to send a little extra charge to help boost the warrior's faltering systems. "Look at me, Sunstreaker."

The optics dimmed for a moment, then brightened, the extra charge taking effect. For the first time since his injury, Sunstreaker seemed to be able to focus. His optics rested on Prowl, staring at his black and white protector.

"Good. Keep your focus on me, Sunstreaker. I don't want you falling into charge until we can get back to base," Prowl said encouragingly. Recognition was in Sunstreaker's optics, and Prowl wanted to keep the frontliner conscious until they could get him to his twin.

Sunstreaker gazed up into the face hovering over him, his optics shuttering slowly. His face contorted into a sorrowful grimace, his vocalizer starting to fill with static.

"Are you proud of me?" Sunstreaker asked, his voice breaking.

Prowl was taken aback, unsure how to react, but before he rationalized the question, his vocalizer was already responding.

"I'm very proud of you. You've done well above my expectations."

"I have?" Sunstreaker voice was hard to distinguish from the static, but the look of pleading in his optics pushed the reluctant parent to continue.

"You have protected everyone at the risk of your own life. There is nothing more honorable than that."

"Proud…" Sunstreaker trailed off, his optics dimming as a smile spread across his face.

"Very proud," Prowl amended. "And I'm honored to be considered your creator."

"Creator…." Sunstreaker's smile faltered, an involuntary whimper escaping as his optics lowered. His voice crackled with static as he whimpered, "I don't want to be broken."

"You're not broken, just injured. Nothing Ratchet can't fix," Prowl said, not liking the readouts now scrolling across his HUD. Sunstreaker's vitals were starting to drop. "Stay with me, Sunstreaker."

"Can't…. fix…." Sunstreaker muttered, his optics flickering to darkness. "Broken… useless….." A small static filled cry echoed in the confines of the rolling tomb. His voice was distant, whispering. "I'm worthless….. junk."

"Sunstreaker?" Prowl yelled, squeezing the now slack hand in his grasp.

Jazz's remaining headlight gave a flicker, then cast the inside of the trailer into darkness. The only light now was from the two Commanding Officer's optics. One silently observing a rare moment, and unable to form the words to express the turbulent emotions now jockeying for position in his spark.

The other rallying to save a life that suddenly became a lot more precious.

Prime rolled straight into medbay, Ratchet already transformed and grabbing the safety locks on the back of the trailer. No one said a word. Every crew member stepped aside without complaint or irritation, sequestering themselves away from the medic as he fought to save a life.

Prowl carried Sunstreaker from the trailer, his steps ringing through the metal ward. Had Jazz been in a more jovial mood, he would have laughed that it was the first time he _ever_ heard Prowl's footsteps, but the saboteur limped to a nearby berth with Ironhide's help, and the two kept a distant vigil.

Sideswipe was already rushing to the pair, his crimson hood splitting, exposing his spark chamber. Without Ratchet's order, he climbed on top the berth, hovering near the Datsun, who was sending vast amounts of energy into the downed Lamborghini to keep his systems stable. Prowl was visibly shaking, his doorwings vibrating with his efforts.

Ratchet wormed his hands between the two living life supports, and began the tedious task of removing the protective armor from the Sunstreaker's damaged spark chamber. As soon as it came free, Sideswipe joined his half spark to his brother's, a grinding hiss escaping him before he collapsed motionless on top his twin.

Prowl tried to protest, but Ratchet began removing the leads that kept the tactician linked to the downed warrior. Prowl staggered, finally free of the physical burden of sustaining another life, and felt someone wrap their arms around him to lead him to a berth. Without knowing who his support was, he collapsed, his systems shutting down for recalibration and repairs. His last fleeting thought was of his twins and a silent prayer to Primus that he didn't lose them.

00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00

What's going to happen?

Frosted Lamborghinis to those who guess correctly!

As always, any thoughts or con-crit is welcomed. I take everything into consideration and don't dismiss any advice

And since the last two chapters received rather scanty reviews, I'm sending out a call to all of those who wish to see this series continue. Even if you just write in **'Yes, please. I enjoy these stories"** then I will continue to write and update. However, since lately I cant seem to entertain the masses, then I should quit while I'm ahead. If I don't get a positive response, then I'll upload the last two that I have and not finish the other dozen or so that I've been working on. I'm trying to focus my attention on what the readers want to 'see'.

Not to mention, its slagging HARD to think of new titles with the twins' names and THEN figure out stories to blend them together and NOT be repetitious. I want to write out things that are fresh, new, and entertaining, and hopefully, something that you didn't see coming.

That takes a lot of concentration and thought, two things I sometimes lack.

I don't want to be boring or repetitive and make the readers think, "Oh, its another one of _THOSE_ fics". So between this chapter and the next (and the little short after), let me know if I should continue, or if I've had a good run and should call it a day.

Either way it has been a pleasure.


	19. Outside In

**Outside In**

**Oh my gosh! I had NO IDEA so many people enjoyed these little stories. I'm just… overwhelmed. First of all, that was the most reviews I think I have EVER gotten, and needless to say, it not only flattered and tickled me pink, but flustered me as well. My muse could NOT stop talking and helped me to get through a couple more 'snippets'. Wow! Thank you so much! **

**THANK YOU to my loyal reviewers: Starfire201, Lambor Terror Lep, cmdrtekk, CRAZY little Dragon, young, CaMaRoFaN14, and Blitz-Krazi-1.**

**HUGE THANK YOU **AND** WELCOME **to new reviewers** (**so** awesome **to hear from new readers**!): transformationsgirl, lokkish, Nightlightbee, Nek0Nek0, DawnnsGrace, Skittles the Sugar Fairy, SEZwho94, Blood Shifter2, SilverRayan, and xXNovenusPrimeXx, Lolin' Girl**

**Because of ya'll's encouragement and wonderful reviews, I have decided to post the second half of the cliffie (sorry CRAZY little dragon!) and I hope you enjoy it. **

**00 00II00 00 00II00 00 00II00 00 **

"Shouldn't you be in the brig?" Prowl asked without looking up from his datapad.

Sideswipe gave a half shrug, planting himself on the opposite side of the tactician, his optics fixed on the unmoving form between them on the berth. "One of Wheeljack's explosions took out half the brig, causing a short circuit. Bars went down, so I just walked out."

Prowl finished his report and placed the pad on the finished pile and turned to the ruby Lamborghini. "You're still in trouble."

Sideswipe glanced to the Second before returning his attention back to his brother. "I know. I'll go back when Wheeljack fixes what he broke."

Prowl felt his spark clench. He regretted having to send the frontliner to the brig, but after he stabilized Sunstreaker's spark, he refused to leave his brother's side, constantly getting in Ratchet's way as he worked. Sideswipe's vehemence started with a heated shouting match that rapidly escaladed into violence. Sideswipe was advancing and Ratchet was deadly with tools, but if the two came to hand to hand combat, Ratchet would lose. Badly.

With other alternative, Prowl ordered the frontliner to the brig. A decision he despised making, knowing Sideswipe was only venting his worry and frustration in the only way he knew how. He had no control, both emotionally and physically. He could easily hurt Ratchet, or worse. That was a scenario the Second wasn't willing to facilitate. It took the combined force of Prime, Ironhide, Prowl, and Jazz's sneaky fighting maneuvers to subdue him for incarceration.

Ratchet had stormed to his office and slammed the door so hard; the tools along the workbench had jumped from their places. It was rare the CMO displayed such anger, but his worry over Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's constant interference had worked their way under his armor and irritated him to violence.

And for once, Prowl didn't lecture either on their behavior. He remained stationed by Sunstreaker's side, performing his duties as he normally would, though using a spare berth as his desk. Jazz came and went, sometimes sitting with the two and working on his own reports in companionable silence. A task that Prowl would have thought impossible of the fidgety Special Ops Commander.

"Why won't he wake up?" Sideswipe asked softly, startling Prowl out of his thoughts.

"Ratchet said the trauma was enough to send him into stasis and is reluctant to use stimulants," Prowl said, knowing that Sideswipe had heard the explanation before. The information just didn't seem to be able to sink in. He guessed it was the constant strain of having an unanswered bond.

Sideswipe carefully folded Sunstreaker's hand in his own, staring at the face that always seemed to display a scowl. It was sad that such a beautiful face could warp into something so cruel and vicious. Yet, here it was, peaceful in slumber and angelically perfect.

And so _silent_.

There was no reaction to touch. No emotional displays, or hissing protests. No inkling through the bond. Sideswipe felt his spark falter, its summons unanswered by its other half that was so close, yet so far away. When he had merged his life to his brother's, the pain had been overwhelming. He didn't remember losing consciousness, or the disconnection of their bodies. The only thing he remembered was waking up staring at an orange ceiling and a cold emptiness where his spark should be.

He felt so alone.

The sensation had been enough to send the frontliner into action, which now that he had time to think about, wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do. His brother needed him close by, and though he was loathe to admit it, he needed visual confirmation of his twin. He couldn't be sure if Sunstreaker still _lived_, the constant presence in his spark and mind had been silenced. So now, all he had, was the visual reassurance that life still resided in the golden frame. And it terrified him.

Prowl's comm. beeped and after a minute, he spoke to Sideswipe. "Brig's fixed." Sideswipe gave a small nod in acceptance, but rising in slow motion, his optics fixed on his brother's visage, Prowl added, "If you promise to control your emotions, you may stay."

"Promise," Sideswipe said without thought, dropping back down onto his seat with a clang. He gave a sheepish look to the Second. "Sorry about earlier. I was an idiot."

"You are just worried about your brother," Prowl responded.

"I can't feel him," Sideswipe admitted, a grievous look gracing his face. "I can always feel him, even when we recharge. But now… nothing."

"Ratchet said it was due to his injuries," Prowl said, suddenly very aware of how scary it must be for Sideswipe to not feel his twin. Solitude didn't sit well with the ruby warrior. "He's in deep stasis until his systems sense his healing repairs. Then his processor will recognize his repaired body and release his subconscious from retreatment."

Sideswipe nodded, knowing that the injury to the spark was the worst that could be sustained. Their very essence pulsed within that brilliant light, and when it was threatened, the body naturally shut itself down as a matter of self-preservation. He had felt his brother's retreat as they merged, but the pain was so overwhelming it scrambled his CPU for some time. Part of his earlier retaliation had been due to disorientation.

The two lapsed into companionable silence for awhile, until Ratchet stalked out of his office. He took a couple of steps, then glared at the two stationed beside his only patient.

"What is this, a convention?" he asked gruffly, pushing past Sideswipe who had fallen into recharge beside of his twin.

Sideswipe awoke with a start, grunting as Ratchet dislodged the hold he had on his twin. His hand went to his chest and started to rub, his scowl a perfect imitation of Sunstreaker's.

"Is your spark hurting?" Prowl asked, noticing the ruby warriors actions.

Sideswipe shook his head, his expression going from irritated aggression to relief. "No, burning. It means Sunny is starting to come round."

Prowl looked to Ratchet and sure enough, Ratchet gave a nod of affirmation.

"His systems are repairing the damage," Ratchet supplied, checking over the leads and finding his patient in optimal recovery. "Give him another day or so and he'll be up and about, making everyone just as miserable as himself."

Sideswipe glared.

"You're professionalism is exemplary but your bedside manner is rudimentary at best," Prowl commented in his dry monotone.

It was Ratchet's turn to scowl. "Do you want to be my personal guest and get first hand experience on how 'professional' I can be?" A wrench appeared as an unspoken promise.

Sideswipe gulped, looking to Prowl, expecting to see him cringe like the rest of the crew. However, Prowl merely blinked lazy optics and nodded toward Sunstreaker, "Recovery time?"

"He should be awake within the next twelve to twenty-four hours," Ratchet said, hefting his favorite wrench, though he knew Prowl wasn't intimidated by medicinal iron. "Depending on how fast he assimilates the new materials and he doesn't do anything stupid to rupture a weld."

"Approximate time for recovery?" Prowl prompted, unperturbed.

"Depends on how long we can keep him inactive, but I'm guessing about a week," Ratchet said, stowing his wrench away as its effect was disappointing. He knew that Prowl was busy adjusting duty rosters and was trying to formulate the best possible schedule. There was a small part of him that wondered if the tactician wasn't hiding ulterior motives. Had he not known Prowl, he would have guessed his actions benefiting to those of a worried parent and not of a commanding officer.

"Understood," Prowl said, and began typing on a datapad. Without looking up he added, "Sideswipe, I will need you to cover Hound's patrol this evening so he can perform monitor duty tonight."

"Will do," Sideswipe said, feeling the burning ache in his chest that signaled Sunstreaker was broadcasting along the bond. It felt good to have him back.

"And you will have to cover patrols tomorrow," Prowl said, then looked to the loudly whining frontliner. "I augmented your schedule so you can exercise your circuits. If you wish to do monitor duty instead, then by all means, maintain that annoying whine."

Sideswipe stilled, glaring at the SIC. With a spastic jerk of his head he agreed to the new shifts, Prowl's typing fingers only fueling his annoyance with the black and white. But if he had to do extra duties, then racing along the streets wasn't as bad and staring at monitors for hours on end. How Red Alert did it was anyone's guess. Sideswipe would have went mad within a day.

"I suggest you get some charge before shift," Prowl said, nodding toward the door.

Sideswipe sighed, slumped his shoulders and walked dejectedly through the door. When he disappeared, Ratchet chuckled, earning Prowl's inquisitive look.

"I know why Sunstreaker imprinted on you,' Ratchet smiled, barely able to contain his laughter. "You're more of a creator than you realize."

Prowl puffed his doorwings and arched his olfactory sensor into the air in a superior look that would have made Mirage proud. "I fail to see the similarities and I would appreciate you to refrain from conjecture. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have roster changes that need to be distributed."

"Of course," Ratchet said, embellishing the dismissive wave of his hand. He knew that Prowl could easily comm. the affected members of the roster changes. "I shall see you in the morning?"

Prowl's huffed vent was his answer. Ratchet waited until the SIC disappeared through the doors before laughing, turning to the unconscious Sunstreaker and adding, "Hurry up and get well, Menace. I don't like drama in my med bay."

Belaying his aggressive statement, Ratchet checked on Sunstreaker's vitals one last time, gentle in his demeanor, before going to his office to down some hidden high grade and finish his latest inventory lists for the supply run later that week.

Prowl entered the medical ward the next morning to find a tempest in full force.

"Lie down and shut up!" Ratchet snapped, struggling with a golden tornado that wanted nothing more than to escape his confinement. "Do I have to get rough?"

Ratchet had been startled when Sunstreaker had grabbed his probing hand while examining the weld mark across Sunstreaker's chest. Not expecting his patient to be cognizant, Ratchet was surprised when Sunstreaker pushed his hand away and tried to pull himself off the berth. Pain had made him wither, but Ratchet's furious shouting had only incensed the frontliner further. Now he** really** wanted to get out of the medical ward, preferably after he inflicted some sort of retribution to the one poking his sore body.

"Oh, and this is _gentle_ medical care?" Sunstreaker retorted, snarling when Ratchet's hand brushed against a tender weld along his chest.

"Don't make me terminate you!" Ratchet yelled, pinching a wire that he knew was sensitive in the golden frame.

Sunstreaker let out a howl, and reluctantly fell back on the berth, his optics near white with rage. "You'll pay for that."

"I already have," Ratchet said without making optic contact. "Want to guess how many hours it took me to put you together and keep your miserable plating alive?"

Sunstreaker frowned, trying to remember the incident that brought him to Ratchet's acidic care. "I only fell through a building. I've done it before. Recovery didn't take quite as long," he gave a smug sneer to his captor; "You must be losing your touch!"

His answer was a resounding clang in his audios as Ratchet delivered a dose of metal medicine, though it was a rather small measure compared to his normal dosage. Any further arguments were interrupted when Prowl spoke.

"How is he?" he asked without preamble.

"Back to normal, I'm sorry to say," Ratchet said, giving Sunstreaker a look that could melt titanium. His expression softened when he turned to the tactician. "He doesn't remember the past two weeks. He keeps thinking his injuries were caused from falling through a roof." He let out an exasperated huff directed toward the now pacifistic twin. "Doesn't believe me about taking on Megatron and nearly getting terminated in the process."

"Glitch," Sunstreaker muttered darkly.

"You don't remember anything?" Prowl asked, and for once, his usual passive manner was dropped. Surprise registered on his face as he stared at Sunstreaker. "Anything at all?"

"I remember riding Skywarp," Sunstreaker said, his lip curling in distaste, "Not that he was a good ride, but he somehow managed to lose me and I fell into a building. I think it was the mall."

"That was nearly three weeks ago," Prowl amended, watching for some sign of comprehension. A battle waged on Sunstreaker's face before he finally settled on scowling in disbelief. Prowl added, "Megatron overpowered Prime and you attacked him, saving Prime's life, along with Jazz and Bumblebee."

"Your spark chamber was damaged, but Prowl was able to keep you stable until we could return to base, where Sideswipe initiated a merge and stabilized your spark. You've been in stasis for four days until you could assimilate the new materials." Ratchet brandished a wrench as he spoke.

Sunstreaker gazed down at his chest, scowling deeper when he noticed the pewter marks across his pristine paint. "It's horrible."

"It nearly ended your life," Prowl said, fighting the urge to strangle the frontliner, and yet, that part of him that became a creator, wanted to hold his adoptive child and protect him from the cruelty of life. His processor started to burn. Not a good sign. There was a high probability there was crash in his near future. "The wounds will heal, given time and patience."

"I meant my paint," Sunstreaker snarled, giving Prowl a long suffering look. "I clash!"

"You'll survive," Ratchet intoned, rolling his optics. Definitely the old Sunstreaker. He shook his head at the stupidity of his comrades and went to his office, slamming the door amid a shower of curses.

"I'd rather be terminated!" Sunstreaker shouted to where Ratchet had disappeared, then recoiled as Prowl stalked toward him, optics shining like a maniac.

"Don't you **dare** say that!" Prowl growled, his engine revving in his anger. "Never again! Understand?"

Sunstreaker regained some of his attitude, his own optics flaring with his temper. "I'd rather terminate than be seen like this! This is unacceptable!"

Prowl inched closer, barreling down on his prey with every intention of making the golden warrior rethink his declaration. Sunstreaker's notorious temper was forgotten, his reputation, meaningless, as he was overshadowed by a raging Praxian. Prowl was bracketing Sunstreaker before he realized he had him cornered. Sunstreaker twitched at the proximity, feeling the SIC's EM field brush his own. An angered inferno raked across his plating, near melting his systems as Prowl hovered, seething from every line. Sunstreaker felt his tanks drop. He never realized Prowl could become so terrifying. Whatever had the tactician on edge, didn't bode well for Sunstreaker's continued health.

"I would rather have you mismatched than terminated, and I don't appreciate you treating your life with such callous disregard. If you think so lowly of your worth, then I will forbid you to engage the Decepticons in the future." Prowl ground out, his optics boring into Sunstreaker's own.

"You wouldn't dare," Sunstreaker half hissed, half snarled, trying to find his vehemence to retaliate. He really didn't like this new Prowl. It made his plating burn.

"Try me," Prowl growled. His hands were braced on either side of Sunstreaker's head, his door wings expanded to their fullest extent in ritualistic display. Smokescreen would have had a field day with the implications to the two oblivious mechs.

"Why do you care?" Sunstreaker asked, though his voice lost most of its venom. Now it sounded diminutive, and slightly frightened.

"I care about yo…. every one of the Autobot forces," Prowl said, trying to cover his blunder of wanting to say he cared what happened to Sunstreaker. He had already suffered two processor crashes with trying to figure out how and why he reversed imprinted and thought Sunstreaker was his sparkling. The ludicrous scenario had plagued the Praxian's processor until he crashed, waking both times to a fuming Ratchet who whacked him a few times to instill a sense of _'balance and knock the fragging cogs back into alignment.' _He was not looking forward to more helm aches and impacts."I will do what I must to preserve the lives of those who mean the most."

"I'm a front line warrior," Sunstreaker said, glaring at Prowl as if seeing him for the first time. "I'm your first line of defense. What are you going to do? Tell Prime he can't send me out because **you** don't want me to get _**hurt**_? Tough!" Sunstreaker gave an obstinate glare in challenge. Acting like a true enraged adolescent. Prowl had to stifle the riling of his door wings in annoyance.

"I can find any protocol to fit this situation," Prowl warned. "You forget who you are talking to."

"No, its **you** who forgets," Sunstreaker retaliated, pulling himself up into a full sitting position in defiance, pursing his lip plating. His tense frame suggested he was in pain from the maneuver. "I do my job. As do you. And I suggest you formulate your plans and leave the fighting to those of us who are adept at it."

"Fighting is not the only thing that you excel in," Prowl said, trying to find good qualities to define Sunstreaker. It was rather difficult. He wasn't the easiest of mechs to get along with. "You have value in other aspects."

"I'm just a soldier," Sunstreaker said, his scowl trying to reassert itself, but other emotions kept blocking its attempts. He looked like he was trying to convince _himself_ and not his superior officer. "My position means I'm expendable. Worthless. I'm only here to ensure the rest of you can make it to safety."

"You just aren't some worthless soldier meant to be sacrificed for fodder and then forgotten," Prowl said, his tone neutral, but Sunstreaker could have sworn there was more. Something he couldn't identify. "Your life is just as important as anyone else, and I refuse to allow you to think of yourself so poorly."

"Why do you care?" Sunstreaker asked, still feeling the underlying current tug at his processor. It was bothering him with its incessant, taunting nature. It was like an overemotional Sideswipe residing in his mind. "It's not like I'm **Prime**. I'm not important to the cause. The Autobots wouldn't be devastated if I terminated. They avoid me like cosmic rust! Pit, most of them would probably _celebrate_ my termination."

"Only because you keep a wall around yourself and don't let others past your defenses," Prowl said.

Sunstreaker quirked a brow ridge and sneered, "Speaking for yourself?"

Prowl flinched but didn't waver. "I mean it, Sunstreaker. You hold value, not only to your twin, but to the Autobots."

"Really?" Sunstreaker asked in true skeptic fashion. His arms were crossed, though Prowl noted the trembling of the frame. Sunstreaker was overtaxing himself just by sitting up. Defiant until the last reserve of strength failed. Prowl admired that.

"Your methods are careless and could use some fine tuning, but your motives are sincere," Prowl said, ignoring the irate glare at mentioning Sunstreaker's reckless behavior. "But you **are** important. We would be lost without you, and that is something I fear we could never recover from."

Sunstreaker snorted, doubting Prowl's state of processor. The stoic SIC never spoke about such things. He must have taken a hit and Ratchet missed something on his scans. "They'd miss _Sideswipe_," Sunstreaker said with a touch of sullenness in his voice. And was that a hint of grief? "No one would ever miss me."

"They would miss you when they realized how much you sacrifice to keep them safe and the suffering you endure to ensure everyone returns home," Prowl said, his tone soft. He never really thought about it, but the twins kept the Autobot forces strong and ensured their survival.

"You are far more valuable than what you realize, Sunstreaker," Prowl added. He noticed that Sunstreaker was now visibly shaking, either from emotion or physical strain, he couldn't tell. But the golden warrior was displaying a rare moment of weakness. "Though others may not know it or acknowledge it, **I** am aware of the danger and it chills my spark to think that one day, you may not return home."

Prowl paused for a second, letting his words sink in.

"Bear that in mind the next time you feel as if you are just some random soldier to be discarded." He looked Sunstreaker straight in the optic, his voice pouring forth before his processor could catch up to his words. He didn't know where the well of sentiment was springing from, but something in the back of his processor told him that this needed to be said. The desperate pleas for forgiveness and absolution in the darkness of Prime's trailer came to the forefront of his processor and haunted his charge more often than he cared to admit.

Sunstreaker's expression was one of shock and confusion. He frowned, unsure what to make of the SIC and his meaning. When Prowl spoke again, Sunstreaker couldn't stop the wave of sadness and despair wash over his features. He was shaking so hard, he was surprised the berth wasn't rattling.

"You are important, Sunstreaker. You matter. To the Autobots, to your brother, to me," Prowl added, feeling uncomfortable and yet, righteous. It was a very odd conundrum and one that was surely going to crash his processor later when he reviewed the conversation. He was due for a few more hits to the helm curtsey of an irate medic.

"Don't ever think yourself worthless. You are not and never will be, 'junk'. Whoever put that foolish idea into your processor was merely trying to hide their own imperfections by placing such things in your mind. Think no more on them. You are not broken and have the admiration of many who look to you for their protection. Your dedication is a sign of strength and admirable qualities that make your comrades respect you."

Prowl nodded toward Ratchet's closed door and added, "I should go and allow you to get some rest before Ratchet decides to inflict his own brand of justice upon my helm. He is already irate with me for using one of the berths as my desk for the past few days."

Sunstreaker glanced to the mentioned medical berth and noticed that there were a few data pads on it. There was also a small stool Ratchet used to roll around on between patient beds.

Prowl grabbed the piled datapads and offered a brisk nod before turning to leave. Sunstreaker's voice was barely audible, but Prowl heard it nonetheless.

"Thanks….dad," Sunstreaker said feeling something inside his spark warm with a strange flame.

Prowl glanced over his shoulder and gave a slight nod to the golden warrior before taking his leave. Sunstreaker settled onto the berth and stared at the ceiling, feeling something warm his soul. It took a moment but he was able to define it.

It was closure and the peace that comes from a spark healing from harsh wounds inflicted long ago.

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Reviews fuel the muse and wonderful things happen. I mean, you're collected voices have given me renewed strength in continuing this story. IN fact, because of all the **fantastic **reviews, I should be uploading another chapter of "**Lost Voices**" and MAYBE another chapter of this story.

So, hit that little button and let me know what you think. Your favorite part? Favorite line? Anything! I like to know what I'm doing right/wrong and feedback/criticism is always welcomed.

PJ


	20. Sunny Forecast

**Sunny Forecast **

**AN:** Since I kinda tortured Sunny in the last two chapters, I thought I'd post something a little upbeat. Though I DO give him a scary moment in this, I centered my torturous streak toward someone else. Hopefully, you'll get a laugh out of it. I giggled when I wrote it!

**HUGE CONGRATULATIONS to CMDRTEKK for being the 100****th**** reviewer! (throws confetti) **I never thought I'd actually get 100 reviews. Didn't realize how much people loved the twins. (gets a warm happy feeling that's usually brought on by Lamborghinis)

So as a THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed, here's another chapter… pretty early I may add. The reviews have been fantastic and keep the muse fueled and I'm getting more and more ideas.

Now, let's see if I can make it to 200!

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"Ready, Sunshine?" Sideswipe called, holding out his hand.

Sunstreaker growled, as if debating on latching onto his twin or just opting to throttle him now on the battle field. He'd beat the slag out of him later. When they weren't in the middle of a battle and there weren't Seekers that needed a Lamborghini's touch. He held out his hand, accepting his brother's offer and like a primal comet, the duo shot up into the atmosphere.

"Show offs!" Huffer yelled, seeing the twins disappear from the battlefront. He knew they weren't abandoning their friends, so desertion was the last thing on his processor. The thing that riled his tailpipes, other than the smug look on the twins' faces, was that they worked as a seamless unit and made the rest of the soldiers look like bumbling new recruits who'd never seen a Decepticon. Sideswipe didn't help matters by employing that blasted jet pack and zooming around like a crazed carmine asteroid, chasing Cons and cackling about his field totals. The dual menaces thought they owned the monopoly of kicking Decepticon aft.

Well, Huffer had a plan to show them. He just needed the right moment and a catapult. He spotted Brawn tackling Astrotrain with Ironhide trying to shoot the triple changer without hitting his comrade. Huffer ventured to the trio and added his strength to the fight.

High in the clouds the Lamborghini twins were having a party. Sideswipe whooped and cheered, Sunstreaker sighed in annoyance, glaring at his twin who flooded their bond with enough positive emotion to change the polarity of the Earth. Sometimes Sideswipe was too slagging happy for his own good. Or Sunstreaker's. The golden mech had to school his features twice when he found himself infected by his brother's jubilation and was grinning like the proverbial idiot.

"We've got company," Sunstreaker called, noting that Skywarp and Thundercracker were now trailing behind the two like mesmerized trout after shiny bait.

"Bout time," Sideswipe laughed, doing a sloppy loop-de-loop that had Sunstreaker turning an ugly shade of green. "Are you ready?"

"I will be if you stop showing off for the seekers!" Sunstreaker snapped, wanting to settle his tank before launching his attack. He didn't want to land on the seeker and end up getting thrown off because he was too busy purging his tank.

"Just trying to sucker them in," Sideswipe yelled, circling and calculating air speed, distance, strength and weakness between the seekers as compared to the Lamborghini frames, and with precision that would have impressed Prowl, Sideswipe dove for the seekers. With a high pitched laugh that belonged more to a hyena than a mechanical being, he spun, launching his twin at Skywarp, who hadn't anticipated the game of toss.

Sunstreaker landed on Skywarp's fuselage and snarled, sliding his hands around the smooth undercarriage and earning a strangled squeak from the black jet.

"What are you doing?" Skywarp bawled, maneuvering into a corkscrew to throw off his passenger.

"Thought I'd give you a hug," Sunstreaker sneered, his fingers digging into the transformation seam along the undercarriage and providing him with a good anchor. With his other hand, he drew back his fist and punched the amber glass, shattering it into golden diamonds.

The second punch went through the broken glass and bowed the support frames before buckling the control panel. Skywarp howled and bucked, his systems flaring warning signals that turned his internal displays into the primal shade that matched the setting sun.

"Slagger," Starscream called, transforming and cuffing the golden warrior on the head and shoulder as Skywarp flew past his Air Commander. Sunstreaker forgot how well the trine worked. Almost as perfect as the cohesion he shared with his twin.

The blow was staggering, causing Sunstreaker to lessen his grip, his equilibrium circuits knocked haywire. Skywarp banked sharply, intent on allowing his trinemate to rid him of his Autobot parasite. When the duo neared the sneering tri colored jet, Sunstreaker shifted his weight, causing the black jet to display his undercarriage at the precise moment that Starscream fired his null ray.

Sunstreaker grimaced, taking some of the charge from the null ray, but Skywarp took the brunt. The black jet yelled and cursed his wingmate, his systems flashing, alarms blaring, and the ground starting to rush up to meet them.

Not having anywhere else to go, and praying he was close enough to jump to another perch, Sunstreaker gave a hard slap to the black fuselage and said, "Thanks for the ride, Wingnut!"

"Sunstreaker!" a voice called, catching the front liner's attention. "Jump!"

Sunstreaker did as ordered, jumping toward the voice. His equilibrium circuits were still impaired, sending the wayward frontliner careening out into space. He tried to calibrate where he heard the familiar voice, but with the wind rushing in his audios, there was a chance he just leapt to his termination.

Unable to control his descent, Sunstreaker tumbled, his circuits scrambling even further from the disorientation. He held out his hand, expecting his twin to zoom in and grab him as they had done countless times before. But after a few seconds, no one grabbed his outstretched fingers. With a panicked whine, Sunstreaker tried to focus on his surroundings, watching as the sky and ground exchanged places so fast it was like they were one in the same.

He was going to shout about some help from his fellow Autobots when he felt the static charge surround him and his momentum shed, allowing him to drift to the ground unharmed. Processor still reeling, world spinning faster than his tires on a race track, Sunstreaker waited for the hard ground to greet his frame, but much to his surprise, arms caught him with ease, the electric field disappearing.

Sunstreaker turned dizzy, unfocused optics toward his savior and vented a sigh of relief.

Well, at least it wasn't a Decepticon. Or Gears. Sunstreaker would have tried to crash land on either option.

Trailbreaker smiled at his golden cargo. "I knew there'd be sun today."

Sunstreaker snorted, still unable to center his spinning world and though he was loathed to allow it, Trailbreaker carried him to the safety of the treeline, allowing him to get his bearings.

Before Sunstreaker could balance himself, there came the call of retreat from the Decepticons. As they fled, Sideswipe came running to his twin, his jet pack now useless from lack of fuel, and grabbed his brother.

"Sunny! What happened?" Sideswipe demanded. "One minute you were beating on Skywarp, the next, he's being carried away by Thundercracker and Starscream."

"The Screaming Demon got off a lucky shot," Sunstreaker said with a grimace, knowing his tank was going to rebel sooner or later. He wasn't designed for such high velocity craziness. "Trailbreaker was able to catch me with his force field."

"Thank Primus," Sideswipe sighed, then gave the black Jeep a look. "Thanks, Trailbreaker."

"No problem," he said with his usual laid back manner. "I wanted to catch some sun today."

Sunstreaker groaned, both from the pun and the throbbing now starting in his helm. He had a sneaky feeling he'd be needing Ratchet's care. He balked when Trailbreaker offered to help him back to the Autobots, but the amicable mech didn't take it personally. Sunstreaker rarely let anyone in his personal space. He only relented to help when his twin forcefully grabbed him and threatened to tear off sensitive pieces of Sunstreaker's anatomy. Trailbreaker winced but didn't speak.

The trio made it back to Prime, who was surrounded by the rest of the Autobot forces. Everyone was a little worse for wear, but they were still alive. Ratchet was glaring a hole in Jazz, who managed to bust both of his windshields and crumple the right half of his hood.

"Autobots.. Roll…" Prime called, but Ironhide interrupted.

"Wait a minute, Prime!" the weapons specialist called, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. The distant sounds of cursing and breaking foliage rent the air. "We have to wait until Brawn gets Huffer down."

Prime nodded in understanding, then frowned as the words sunk in. "Get Huffer down from where?"

"Pine tree," Ironhide said nonchalantly. When Prime gave him a surprised, expectant look, Ironhide sighed and nodded toward the cursing trees. "Huffer wanted to take on the seekers."

"And how exactly did he end up in a pine tree?" Prime asked, wondering what had possessed his troops.

"Uhmm, he asked Huffer to launch him into the sky, hoping to catch a ride on a seeker," Ironhide sighed, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Prime waited patiently, noticing Ironhide's lip components kept trying to curl upward.

"He missed." Ironhide did his best to hide his smirk. "Pine tree caught him. He's stuck in the upper branches right now."

"That's what the slagger gets," Sunstreaker spoke up, surprising everyone. "Trying to imitate a Lamborghini."

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Reviews will be loved and makes the muse pester me to write. I'm currently working on TWO that are requests from reviewers, so I DO appreciate all encouragement and yes, even a couple of people have given me con-crit. I take everything into consideration and as a special treat, I will write out 'scenes' when requested.

All ideas are welcomed!


	21. Off Side

**Off Side**

AN: This fic is dedicated to StarLitDawn, who requested Sideswipe in a moment of contemplation/philosophical. I hope its what you had in mind.

As always, all feedback, thoughts, concrit is appreciated though requests require some time for me to think and plot. I DO take considerations into account and try to come up with something that baffles, or the reader didn't see coming, all while trying to maintain the constant of using variations of the twins' designations. Just give me time folks and I promise I'll get your requests. I currently have TWO in the works for RATCHETROCKS and CRAZY LITTLE DRAGON, and I'm hoping, with enough incentive, I can get them finished and uploaded.

**HUGE THANK YOU to my faithful reviewers and to those who send messages. Its greatly appreciated!**

StarLitDawn- I truly hope I captured the waxing philosophical that you wanted.

Cmdrtekk- Yeah, I thought Huffer was a little 'awkward' but I wanted to show some of the other characters mentality because though this is about the twins, there are others in the battle and I seem to hover around Prowl, Prime, Ironhide, and Ratchet. I wanted 'new blood' so to speak and Huffer seemed a good asshole to toss into a tree. LOL I really don't like him all that well and I KNOW the twins didn't get along so well with Minibots and I couldn't see throwing little Bee or Windcharger up a tree. And Gears was planted into a bulkhead previously, so I wanted to spread the animosity. (and hilarity(

SEZwho94- Huffer's great to get emotionally fired up and then send him for a pine tree time out!

Young- I think if the twins were indebted to a minibot, they'd self terminate. LOL But I WILL keep that in mind for future stories!

Prowls-little-angel- Yeah, I cant see Sunstreaker willingly HUG anyone, not even his twin. Its just not his nature. LOL And I agree with him and that NO ONE can imitate a Lamborghini. Can't beat perfection (dreamy sigh)

(W)- Anon- Continuation has been approved. Depression, adverted. (You related to Soundwave by any chance?) Great to see a new reviewer! Great hearing from ya!

Starfire201- Glad you liked it! I intend on torturing ALL the minibots, it just takes awhile to find the right story and title to fit. Heheh

Lambor Terror Lep- I didn't intend on uploading so often, but I'm determined to get over 1,000 hits for this story in a month. That's a feat that has eluded me thus far. My next milestone is hitting 200 reviews! I've already talked Sideswipe into brewing the 'good stuff' for the party!

DitzyMusicLover- If you think Sunstreaker is in for some psychological torture NOW, wait until you see what I have in store for him! Man, I just keep torturing that little Lambo. He's not only gorgeous to look at, but he's great to throw all these emotional conundrums at and see how he survives.

Lolin' Girl- Well, I don't know what 'esker' is but I hope its good! I DO love to put Suny through the emotionally wringer. Poor thing. He's not going to be the same after I'm done with him!

Gracious! I think that's the most I've ever done for personal messages! Thanks guys! You continue to force my muse into submission…. And I will keep updating with the fantastic reviews giving me such incentive!

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Sideswipe settled himself on the ledge, the cliff face above him keeping him sheltered against the rain. He sighed, nestling into his little niche to watch the world from above the ARK. It was just him, a rare occurrence, but Sunstreaker had locked himself in his studio.

Both twins needed a outlet. Sunstreaker had found his during moments, or days in some cases, where he lost himself in the brush, the imagines escaping from somewhere deep inside. There was yet to be a name for the location of creative genius.

Sideswipe had his pranks and friends to help ease his moods, but sometimes, during the silent moments such as this, it was only him and the rain outside. He leaned against the rock wall, smoothed over by his attentions when he first found the place to hide from the world after they had first landed all those millennia ago. His hard work made the alcove rather comfortable, and where Sunstreaker found his solace in color and patterns, Sideswipe found his quiet moments during the heavy rain storms that plagued Oregon's skies.

But Sideswipe loved it. Though his alt mode didn't travel well on icy roads and hazardous mudslides, he preferred to sit back and watch the world cleanse itself. Rain sparkled on his chassis where he had left the base and ventured to his favorite hiding spot. He felt the soft tickles of earthen tears fall from his person and land in the quiet den of the alcove.

It had been raining for several hours, and the forecast had called for the storm to end soon. The rain alternated between gentle patters and torrential downpours. The Autobots had already been called out twice to deal with flooding zones. But Sideswipe had been serving monitor duty, a task he usually abhorred, but during the rain storms, he enjoyed it. Because he knew as soon as he was relieved, his duties were finished for the day. He was allowed to venture to his quiet domain and observe the organic world he now inhabited.

He could never talk about such thing with Sunstreaker. Everything about Earth made the vain mech hiss and growl, complaints becoming so tedious Sideswipe lost interest long ago. There were others he considered his friends. But none of those relationships were deep enough to reflect on the life of the planet and on the changed world they had left behind.

Sideswipe released a heavy ex-vent, dispelling all the heat and frustration that had accumulated since the last time he was granted such peace. Occasionally a stray sense of anger or triumph would cross his spark, but they were easily explained as Sunstreaker engaged in his art therapy.

He inhaled slow and long, pulling in the heavy draught of rain soaked earth and the wonderful scents that traveled on the wind and water. There was nothing quiet like a thunderstorm on Earth. The lightning had faded into the distance, taking the thunder with it, though a low rumble would sound in the distance, accenting the tinkling rhythm of the rain. Sideswipe calculated this will be the last storm and he was glad of the peace it offered. Knowing he had limited time, Sideswipe turned off his comm., but kept his locator beacon active, unless Red Alert freak out and deem him a Con sympathizer.

Again.

Fragging outdated scrap. Sideswipe snorted at the thought of Red Alert being considered 'outdated', seeing how there was barely an orn difference between them. He never thought **he** would be considered an older model. Sunstreaker would most certainly self terminate than to think himself other than modern perfection.

Sideswipe sighed, staring out across the mountains, watching as their faces stayed hidden in shadow from the rain. How could he be considered an 'older model'? Granted there were very few new designs since the war had ravaged their planet. Factories were shut down or upgraded to produce parts and alloys that could be utilized by the soldiers. When the Earth crew first met Ultra Magnus and his crew, Sideswipe had overheard some of their titles for the Earth bound mechs.

They were laughed at and called 'cumbersome' and 'outdated.'

A small mech, too wired up for his own good, mentioned that the Earth bound models should consider themselves antiques, and that it was a shame there weren't factories to make replacement parts for them anymore. A brash mech had answered him about proposing those mechs 'retire' and donate their parts to the next generation. He had boasted about how the new generation were going to fix things and how they were going to make everything right again. It was the antiquated models that had caused all the problems to begin with. If they were gone, then there wouldn't be such hardships on the rest of the population.

Sideswipe wanted to purge upon hearing that conversation. He never mentioned it to Prime or any of the senior officers. He never even told Sunstreaker. Most bots were happy to make contact with home, even if they didn't recognize the new faces that filled the ranks.

Thunder rolled in the distance, offering a heavenly goodbye to one of its more appreciative observers. Sideswipe watched the rain fall in a waving pattern, the tiny droplets working together to soak the earth below and offer relief from the mild heat wave of the last week. The snowy caps of the mountains glistened like diamonds, granting their treasures to the alien who admired their crowns from afar.

Sideswipe considered Earth his new home. Sure it lacked the towering spires of Cybertron, and the heavy metals used in construction and replacement parts, but Earth had better qualities than that to offer.

There were unlimited highways, most of them well maintained. Fast alt modes, different racing mediums, plenty of company if one wanted it, plenty of open spaces for those who required solitude, wonderful music, excellent solvents and waxes and facilities that catered to expensive vehicles. There was unlimited fuel and an abundance of parts that could be specially formatted for certain frame types.

The rain slacked, a light mist spreading across the horizon, dusting everything with soft, metallic gray.

And Earth had climate. There were changes in seasons, temperatures, terrain, and even road hazards shifted in a changing tide. Earth was always in motion, one moment bleeding into the next and offering a whole new world of experience.

Unlike Cybertron, with its cold atmosphere, acid rain, and scalding lower levels that were dangerous to several frame types. Cybertron had become inhospitable, both in population and in environment. Sideswipe was positive he didn't want to go back. He didn't want to be part of an army who would rather look at him with sympathy and want to use him as spare parts. He had earned his life many times over, fighting for those very young sparks who deemed themselves fit to lead the world.

As if in omen, the sky cleared and a ray of sunlight split the heavens, shining through the mist. A rainbow appeared, smiling at its witness as it lit up the sky in a prism that spanned the horizon. Sideswipe smiled, his optics zooming in to view the tiny crystalline masterpieces that scattered across the heavens. The colors bled perfectly into one another, making it almost impossible to categorize them into definite hues. The pallet of the Earth was expansive, far better than anything Cybertron had to offer, barring the Crystal Gardens of Praxus, before they were destroyed. Now their colors were just as dull and lifeless as the planet itself.

Sideswipe sat and stared at the natural phenomena, watching as one rainbow became two, tying a bow around the world and presenting it to the mechanical beings who now called Earth their home. The myriad of hues never ceased to amaze Sideswipe, having gained his favor the first time he ever witnessed the aftermath of a terrestrial rain. Rainbows never formed on Cybertron. There were no colors to paint the sky and brighten the world below.

The ruby Lamborghini drank it all in, opening his vents and pulling in heavy gusts of rain soaked air, allowing it to caress his spark and clear his processor. There was nothing like the sights and smells after a rain. And Sideswipe wouldn't give up these tender moments for all the energon in the galaxy. Sideswipe decided to stay on Earth, and experience as many as its moments as possible.

The sky faded from silver gray to powder blue, taking the rainbows away. Sideswipe smiled, his spark feeling elated, his processor humming with pleasant distraction. With his spiritual batteries renewed, he climbed down from his perch and headed back home, grateful to the Earth for the quiet breath of release it offered as a war torn spark paused for a moment, just to witness its wonders.

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Reviews would be LOVED! I'm really hoping to hit 200 reviews! I've never had so many and I think it would be **awesome** to reach that milestone. And I honestly love hearing what was your favorite part/line because there are a quite a few that have had me laughing so hard, my ribs hurt. I don't even **know** what's coming out of my fingers until I read it on the page and then I just roll my eyes because its like the twins are doing a mind whammy on me. Jedi Autobots… snort

I've been trying to get a good mix of topics, genres, and entertaining scenarios, all while dealing with the twins names, and its hard folks. But its SOOO worth it when I hear about much the chapters were enjoyed.

As always, any suggestions are welcome I just ask for some time so I can think of a fitting title and hopefully come up with a story you had in mind.


	22. Tempering the Sun

**Tempering the Sun**

AN: Apologies to those I owe a chapter to! Your requests are still being worked on, I promise you! I just wanted to post a little bonus chapter to say THANK YOU because last month this story received 1008 hits! I am just in AWE! All these reviews and words of encouragement have not only lit a fire under my muse, but sends me into the stratosphere. I appreciate every one of you and send out massive, bone crushing hugs in thanks.

**HUGE THANK YOUs** to:

**Rio Voltaire**- Glad you liked it. Its great to know the chapters are still enjoyed. Sometimes I worry about 'over doing it' or 'underachieving.' Thanks for sticking with me!

**DitzyMusicLover**- I have a feeling Sunstreaker loves to paint skylines and landscapes. But Sideswipe doesn't have 'artistic talent' other than pranking and sometimes, he just needs a moment to sit back, enjoy the silence and watch the Earth in motion. Even a hyperactive Lamborghini needs to sit for a moment and recharge their spiritual batteries ;)

**AD Axel**- Well, as long as I keep getting positive reviews, I shall keep going. Its just difficult to come up with something different and hopefully, unexpected from time to time.

**StarLitDawn**- Well, you demanded, and I relented. LOL Glad you liked it. Now if my other endeavors receive half as much positivistic review, then I'll be one happy camper!

**Blitz-Krazi-1**- The reason I put 'one rainbow becomes two' is because this series is about the TWINS. I just thought it was a nice way of the Earth to reflect that, letting Sideswipe know that not only is HE welcome upon Earthen shores, but Sunny is too. Perhaps that's what Sunny was painting while in his studio?

**Kimmie98-** Yeah, I love rainbows myself. I'll sit and stare at them until they disappear. Such a marvel. God's little smiles on us and letting us know he's watching. (sigh)

**Lambor Terror Lep**- Yeah, Sideswipe needs a 'time out' corner. Rather odd he made it himself and sequesters himself in the alcove for some peace and quiet. Of course, he's still sensing his emotional twin, so its not like he's 'alone'.

**Prowls-little-angel-** *blush* Gosh.. THANK YOU! Glad you liked it. And I like the 'Sideswipeness'… GREAT description of the little prankster!

**SEZwho94-** Well, it kinda made sense to me. The Bots on Earth have been there for over 4 million years, and I see them now as the 'older models' compared to the young scrappy things now on Cybertron. Can you just imagine Sideswipe with a walker and yelling in a croaky type voice? LOL

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It was late at night. Quiet reigned in the Ark. A rare occasion. The recent Decepticon activity had been minimal, which prompted an impromptu celebration by the more social members of the crew. Jazz labeled it "Megatron got his aft kicked and is still recovering" party.

Such parties were always a welcomed relief. High grade flowed unchecked and unquestioned, much to Prowl's chagrin. Activities went unscheduled and unsupervised, much to Red Alert's fritzing protest and Ratchet's dismay. There was always a lot of confusion and regrets after such parties. And arguments about banning the events entirely, or making them a common occurrence so the crew could 'keep in practice'.

Most mechs had gotten overcharged on the high grade and went to sleep it off in their quarters, either alone or in confused groups. Others slept where they fell, recipients of disgusted looks from the only mech who didn't partake in the festivities.

Prowl wandered the base, ensuring all Autobots were still functioning and making notes about who overindulged and their current location. If there was an attack, however unlikely, then the tactician needed to know the level of inebriation of those who could fight. His tally so far for completely fragged soldiers was the entire Autobot forces. The total for able bodied mechs to fight, one. Himself. A scenario he didn't find comforting.

So far, the Second in Command had yet to find a suitable soldier. He shook his head in disgust. Fragging drunks.

Much to Prowl's disapproval, it had seemed that everyone had overindulged in the festivities. Even Prime was passed out beside of his door, his overcharge not letting him find the comfort of a berth before overtaking his senses.

Venting a sigh of frustration, the tactician headed for the rec room and wasn't surprised to find the room earning its moniker.

Some shredded paper littered the floor. Unknown stains mixed with the fading energon. Torn streamers hung like cobwebs, accenting the strange Earth phenomena that was always missed by the cleaning detail.

Spilled energon puddle on the floor, most of it frosted over with age. Empty cubes covered most of the surfaces, and someone had even constructed a small fortress out of the spent cubes. Not surprisingly it was Grapple, who snored behind his protective wall. Hoist was on the floor under the table, one of Grapple's legs held securely in the Hoist's embrace as he snored on his friend's knee.

Ironhide was passed out on top of his usual table. Gears and Windcharger were using each other as makeshift pillows. Blaster was upside down on the main stereo speaker, sound bytes escaping like musical snores and his left pede pulsing to an unknown beat.

All in all, a typical after party scene at the Ark. The only difference this time was the twins sequestered in their usual corner. Both were alert and talking in low tones. They quieted when they noticed Prowl's entrance. They instantly noticed he lacked the usual need to find something to help balance crazy equilibrium circuits. The reason was distressingly obvious.

"Surprise, surprise. Guess who didn't get hammered tonight?" Sideswipe muttered his brother, his mouth hidden behind his mostly full cube of high grade.

Prowl gave the twin terrors a barely perceived nod, then retrieved a low grade cube from the dispenser. He looked around the destroyed room and considered his options. None seemed appealing, and with a slight start, he noticed Sideswipe motion for the tactician to join them.

"Trying to join the party? Sorry to disappoint, but the fun is already over," Sideswipe said when Prowl neared their table.

"Someone has to keep a level head to ensure the safety of everyone," Prowl said, taking a sip of his fuel, though uncertain if he should sit.

"That's Red Alert's job," Sunstreaker grunted, high grade brilliantly shining off his armor. The shine accented his sharp features and gave him an unnatural glow that teetered between danger and beauty.

"He's….. busy," Sideswipe stage whispered with a cheeky look, earning another grunt from his twin.

"Pull up a chair," Sideswipe indicated one of the many scattered chairs, most of them overturned and filthy.

Prowl chose a chair that was unstained and still sitting on all four legs, and moved it to the table, his actions still a little hesitant. He normally didn't socialize with the crew members, preferring to remain aloof and disinterested. The only times he joined the groups that gathered off-shift was when Jazz physically dragged him from his office. The saboteur learned a long time ago (from some unknown source) that if you pinched a doorwing just right, you could get a Praxian to do just about anything you want. A fact he abused on many occasions.

"We won't bite," Sideswipe added, noting the commanding officer's uncertainty. "Well, I don't. Sunny does."

Sunstreaker curled his lip in a half snarl as he stared at the mech opposite. Obviously he was in his usual mood.

"So what do you say?" Sideswipe asked his twin as Prowl sat down at the table. "I do the floors and you pick up the empties?"

"Slag, no," Sunstreaker grunted, sparing his brother a disgusted look, before returning his gaze to his partially filled cube. "I just waxed. I'm not dulling my paint if I don't have to."

Sideswipe snorted and out of spite, swiped his finger down his brother's forearm. Sunstreaker hissed like an angry cat. If he had fur, it would have been puffed out in aggressive anger.

"Stop that, idiot!" he snarled.

"Now, you have a smudge. Help me clean up and I'll help you buff yourself into an indecent shine," Sideswipe cooed, giving his brother the sweetest look he could muster.

Sunstreaker considered for a moment, staring at the light streaking through the wax on his arm. He could use a heavy waxing and lately, Sideswipe had refused to buff the harder to reach areas. Sunstreaker may be perfect, but there were still flaws in his design. Well, not_** flaws**_, just problems in flexibility and accessibility. A gorgeous mech like him wasn't flawed in any sense of the term.

"We're not even being punished," Sunstreaker muttered, still thinking of a reason to get out of the clean up duty. "Why volunteer to work, especially when you weren't the one to make the mess in the first place?"

"It's just a nice thing to do," Sideswipe countered.

"I don't do nice."

"You would for me."

"Only so I can beat your aft later."

"You know I'll do a thorough polish on your back," Sideswipe continued, his expression turning cheeky.

Sunstreaker frowned. His brother had a point. Every time he helped Sideswipe, non-prank related, he did get to enjoy a thorough cleaning and polish. Nothing felt better than being buffed and polished, and looking so handsome it should be illegal.

"Fine," Sunstreaker relented. "But I want the good stuff and at least two coats."

"Done!" Sideswipe nodded before Sunstreaker could add more terms to the agreement.

"What are you two up to?" Prowl asked, having observed the conversation and felt unnerved by their actions. The twins never did anything without an ulterior motive.

"We take turns cleaning up the mess," Sideswipe half shrugged, gulping a good measure of high grade.

"Why?" Prowl asked, confused as to what could aspire the troublesome twosome to do something selflessly.

"That's what I wonder every time," Sunstreaker grumbled.

"Just our way of saying thanks," Sideswipe supplied, giving a partial shrug.

"Thanks for what?" Prowl asked, feeling a burning sensation coming from his battle computer. Jazz referred to it as his "Twin-sense" acting up.

"Watching our backs," Sideswipe smiled. "Keeping us out of trouble."

"We fail at that more often than I care to admit," Prowl muttered, drinking the rest of his cube.

"You succeed more than you realize," Sideswipe said, and all humor was gone from his voice and face. "Have you ever wondered why we stay? Why we fight _against_ the Decepticons and not _with_ them?"

The now empty cube in Prowl's hand made its slow decent to the table, black fingers curled around its edges. Prowl frowned, staring from one twin to the next, his mind a cacophony of previous conversations, orders, and the multiple times it had been mentioned the twins were more like Decepticons than Autobots.

Their allegiance **was** confusing.

"I thought it had something to do with Sunstreaker's paint," Prowl said without thinking. He was rewarded with a quirked brow from said twin.

"Well, in part," Sideswipe said nonchalantly, waving his hand and ignoring the tingle of surprise filtering through from his brother. "The other reason we don't fight with the Cons is they don't have any rules."

"What?" Prowl gasped, all pretense of hiding emotions now evaporated like the spilled energon pooled around the rec room. "You hate rules! You break them every opportunity you get!"

Knowing if he pressed the issue, he'd get the tactician to crash, Sideswipe had to choose his words with great care. Since he just healed from the last Ratchet induced medical malpractice, Sideswipe didn't want to push his luck. If he wanted the Second to understand, he was going to have to start at the beginning, lest the logic minded mech seated opposite would freeze. Then Sideswipe would have to endure Ratchet's tirade. One of the few things that made the frontliner wary.

"We break the rules because _you_ insist we follow them," Sunstreaker said, his usually scowling features were now tinged with something akin to amicable mischief. He looked so much like Sideswipe at his most devilish, it was scary. Prowl gave an involuntary shiver at the thought.

Sideswipe sent his brother a look, partnered with a warning across their bond when he noticed the Praxian's actions. If Prowl locked up, Sideswipe wasn't going to take the rap.

Sunstreaker gave a lopsided smile and reclined in his seat, appraising the black and white mech with an artistic optic.

"Of course you have to follow the rules!" Prowl said, finding that burning sensation to be annoying. He had a feeling he would need to see Ratchet very soon. He was going to have to find something to ease the ache before it progressed too far. "The rules are there for a reason!"

"Which is?" Sunstreaker prompted, actually gracing the Praxian with a genuine smile.

"To keep order," Prowl explained, his processor already formulating vast amounts of data for interpretation. "To maintain discipline and ensure that all contingencies are delegated and protocols upheld to prevent loss of life and total chaos."

"Basically, the rules keep everyone civil," Sunstreaker said, not catching the fact this is the most he had spoken to anyone outside of his twin for over a month.

"Exactly," Prowl said, grabbing a partially empty cube from a nearby table and finished the contents off with two swallows. He grabbed another half empty cube and waved it toward the twins as he spoke, "Without rules, we would fall into mindless chaos, losing not only ourselves, but destroying everything around us and other lives in the process."

"The Cons don't have such rules and regulations,' Sideswipe put in, hiding his surprise at seeing the stoic tactician downing so much high grade.

"Of course they don't," Prowl said, then frowned, staring at his cube as if realizing it was there. He muttered in a distracted tone, "They have _some_ kind of disciplinary structure, though I fail to formalize a coherent structure."

"The Cons survive through aggression, pain, dominance, and fear," Sunstreaker put in, his cube rocking in his grasp as he twiddled with the edges. "They have no sense of right and wrong, bullying their way through obstacles and using violence as a way of communication and obtaining what they want."

"Precisely," Prowl said, feeling a warmth spread over his frame. He took another drink, finding the sensation to be pleasant. The cube was now almost empty. "They don't know right from wrong and lack any morals."

"Exactly like us," Sunstreaker said, nodding toward his twin. Prowl's optics shone a little brighter, though there was a chance the high grade he was unknowingly drinking had a part in it. "We lack what you could call a 'moral compass'."

"We grew up in Kaon, on the streets," Sideswipe put in, getting very relaxed with the conversation that normally had all other mechs shying away from the twins. Their history had a tendency to rub them the wrong way. "We didn't have anyone to teach us what was right and what was wrong."

"But you do," Sunstreaker added, nodding toward Prowl as if he was the epicenter of their morality. "You make sure we know the difference and even go so far as to reprimand us." He gave a small smile, "No one has ever done that for us before."

"You **want** me to punish you?" Prowl asked, feeling that burning along his processor again. But it was filed away in his processor as a pleasant buzz filled his sensor net. He looked curiously into the empty cube now in his hand, wondering if the sweet concoction had anything to do with his current talkative mood. He normally adopted Sunstreaker's own quirk of rarely speaking or interacting with anyone. Apparently taciturn patterns were forgotten when distracted by a drunken crew…. And that delicious pink sweet stuff that tingled along his relays.

"Not punishment per say," Sideswipe said, regaining Prowl's attention. "Just someone to tell us what we can and can _not_ do."

Sunstreaker added, "And let us know there are consequences to those choices."

"And to instill a sense of guilt and remorse," Sideswipe picked up.

"And to let us know when we've gone too far," Sunstreaker said.

"Keep us from hurting not only those we care about, but ourselves as well."

"Someone to let us know when we have done wrong."

"And that our transgression deserves reprimand."

"Our anger gets the best of us and we tend to forget our purpose," Sunstreaker put in, noting how Prowl's optics darted between the twins as they spoke in the jointed language that had other's feeling dizzy.

"We need someone to tell us where the boundaries _are_," Sideswipe put in.

"And warn us not to cross them."

"Because we will lose ourselves."

Sunstreaker waited until Prowl's brightened optics drifted back to him and said in a slow, even tone, making sure the officer understood where the twins were coming from. "Sometimes, we need someone to tell us when to **stop**."

"Because if **you** don't tell us, we become just like the Cons," Sideswipe said, and there was real grief in his expression.

"You may think we don't listen, but we do," Sunstreaker put in, downing the rest of his cube in one gulp. He sat the cube back on the table and gave the tactician his infamous scowl. "Just don't start feeling all superior because you act as our conscious, because slag like that will get you fragged up."

"Oh, my little ball of Sunshine,' Sideswipe crooned, earning a punch to the shoulder. "I do love it when you act all macho."

"Shut up, idiot," Sunstreaker snapped, nodding toward the rec room as a whole. "Shall we get started?"

"Yeah, might as well," Sunstreaker agreed with great reluctance.

The twins rose from their table, Sideswipe giving Prowl a nod before leaving. Sunstreaker just scowled, wondering if the tactical advisor would remember their conversation when his extra charge wore off. Prowl's optics was a bit on the bright side.

Prowl watched the two depart, the burning in his processor faded, replaced by a warm tingling. He frowned, wondering what caused such a sensation and decided that he could best contemplate in his quarters. He rose, wavering a little and made his way to his quarters, where he fell unconscious on his berth. Prowl's tolerance for high grade was non existent, which was why he never indulged. He fell into a deep charge, the twin's story looping through his processor.

When Prowl disappeared through the door, Sunstreaker turned to Sideswipe.

"I hope you didn't break him," he said, his optics catching the slight sway to monochromatic hips.

"He'll be fine,' Sideswipe said, tossing a few empty cubes into the recycling bin. "I'll check on him in a couple of hours."

"Good," Sunstreaker grunted, returning to the pile of empty cubes around Grapple and tossing them to his twin for disposal.

The twins worked in silence, cleaning up the mess left by their comrades, and in Sideswipe's case, posing certain bots in compromising situations and taking images for blackmail later. They scoured the room for any mess that needed attention, Sideswipe snickered and gave his brother another one of his infamous smiles that meant no good was churning in the devilish processor. As Sunstreaker mopped up pooled energon, he heard smothered laughter and looked to survey his twin's handiwork on their comrades. The twins may do the honorable thing and clean up after their friends, but it didn't mean they couldn't have some fun at said friends' expense. Hence, Sideswipe's favorite pastime while attending the after-party clean up.

Sideswipe ventured to Ironhide and removed his interface panel. He grabbed a collection of streamers, and tied them in a bow, presenting the slumbering mech with his own spike as a present. Next, Sideswipe went to Grapple, removing his interface panel, placing it between Hoists' legs and wedged the slumbering bot with his head directly between Grapple's legs. Blaster was scribbled on, his interface panel directing everyone to 'Press here for a good time'. Cliffjumper was graffitied with a realistic pair of human female breasts that Sunstreaker gave the thumbs up to in artistic approval. Gears was drawn with a very tiny human male penis, which Sunstreaker thought deserved to have a matching copy made on the mini-bot's aft.

By the time the twins were done, the room was put back in order, but their comrades were in various states of risqué poses. Satisfied, they took their leave, knowing that when the ARK awoke for the start of a new day, the crew would be seeking two guilty Lamborghinis.

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**Do you honestly think the twins would do ANYTHING out of the kindness of their sparks and not get SOMETHING in return? (blackmail anyone?) **

**Reviews=faster updates**

**Requests should be done sometime this week, real life permitting. **

**Future chapter requests/suggestions are still welcome. **


	23. Blindsided

**BLINDSIDED**

AN: A short one! *gasp* That doesn't happen very often. I swear that I'm working on the requests! Honest! Its just hard to keep these stories in order, keep them original, and alternate their names for titles. Next one will be a request! Promise!

**Starfire201**- No, never believe the twins are 'innocent' in any endeavor. They always have an ulterior motive.

**CRAZY little Dragon**- Yes, Prowl doesn't quite understand that he's their moral compass and I'm hoping he doesn't crash when the reality finally sinks in. ;)

**Kimmie98**- Yes, Even PRIME gets drunk. He may be the leader but he wants all his soldiers to view him as an equal, someone they can trust and feel free to be themselves. It's a bit of camaraderie and I think a lot of fics lack that. And the twins didn't spike Prowl's drink. Prowl just grabbed the nearest cube after his own 'regular' grade and he didn't realize WHAT he was drinking. Its like when you get into a conversation with someone and you get so into it, that you don't realize what you're doing until you've eaten an entire plate of brownies. *guilty look*

**StarLitDawn**- Thanks! Hope this chapter makes ya aft fall off! Mine fell off where I realized where this fic was going.

**AD Axel**- Prowl would most definitely have LESS med ward visits, less processor damage, and his doorwings wouldn't have that twitch. ;)

**Prowls-little-angel**- Tickled! Blackmail is being brought by a golden 'messenger'. Try not to wear his tires off. *winkwink*

**Lambor Terror Lep**- Jazz may be playful and sneaky, but he has a deep intelligence and knows how to label things. ;) He's accurate, but snarky. And the twins never do anything without an ulterior motive.

**SEZwho94**- I explain about Sunny getting drunk in another chapter I'm working on. And I think that he usually doesn't get drunk, simply because, I agree, its just above him. SOMETIMES though he just lets go, as we all do to some degree. And it always bothers me that some authors hint around to things but never explain the reasoning or the consequences. I try to avoid that in my stories but sometimes something slips through. Which is why I always ask for feedback because sometimes I miss things.

**Bluebird Soaring**- Gosh! Thank you so much! I'm glad you found and enjoy my little 'insights' into the troublesome duo. *blush* I'm thrilled you like the different nuances I try to incorporate. Not a lot of authors show the complexities between the two and they have so many dynamics that should be explored. And I don't think Prowl was thinking he could take on the Cons by himself. It was more of a 'whose still standing to help me?' type situation. I figure there were a few bots who were watching monitors or something, but they'd be tired and just want to crash, or maybe the automated system was on. Who knows?

**Blitz-Krazi-1**- *nods* What can I say? The Earth loves the twins too. ;) I hope I can keep entertaining without being repetitive or redundant. That always hangs in the back of mind every chapter I write.

**DitzyMusicLover**- Yeah, parents nowadays just let their kids run wild. If they aren't careful, we'll have a society full of Sunstreakers… and NOT the 'good' version. And yes Prowl will see them differently and I have a couple upcoming chapters I'm working on where they will see each other in a whole new light. And I'm sorry, but I don't know what a 'jigglypuff' is. If it's a hot Lamborghini who wiggles his aft in a delicious way… then I see the similarities. LOL

**Hope everyone enjoys this chapter! It was a hoot to write!**

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"Sunstreaker, you have a delivery," Red Alert said. His voice sounded…. _odd_. "It's in my office."

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" Sunstreaker growled, abandoning his energon cube and striding between the mingling bots. He didn't have to yell for them to move. They saw his golden visage and made a slow part, allowing the temperamental mech passage.

Red Alert greeted him by the door, performing a suicidal move, blocking the warrior's retreat. "Is there an issue that Prime should be made aware?"

Sunstreaker halted his advance, his fists clenching. He didn't like to be challenged. It usually ended up with his opponent on the floor. "What are you talking about?"

"If not Prime, then perhaps Ratchet?" Red Alert said, and when Sunstreaker looked into the paranoid bots optics, there was genuine concern. The look was enough to halt Sunstreaker's violent reprimand.

"Why would I need to speak to Ratchet?" Sunstreaker asked in a slow, suspicious voice.

"If you have any questions or feel like you need to talk," Red Alert said, now giving the impression of being very uncomfortable, his cheek plates heating. "I mean, I'm not judging you and you are an adult and may do what you please, but I'm responsible for the safety of the crew, even if it's to save them from themselves."

"What are you babbling about?" Sunstreaker asked, intrigued and slightly annoyed. "You sound like Bluestreak."

At the mention of his name, Bluestreak turned and gave a questionable look, to which Sunstreaker offered a sneer in reply. The young Praxian gave a half smile and returned to his conversation with Wheeljack and Mirage.

"Well, I'm not qualified in such fields, but your actions has raised my concern, and in turn, I've had to notify the appropriate mechs," Red Alert said, now fidgeting and darting his optics around as if suspecting someone of overhearing.

"Notify them of what?" Sunstreaker asked, his annoyance morphing into anger.

Sideswipe felt the dark thrum in his spark and left a very puzzled Trailbreaker and Hound, his pedes taking him toward his brother who was stationed at the door blocked by Red Alert. Sideswipe mentally chided the security director, knowing that was a bad position for the white Lamborghini to be in.

When Red Alert noticed Sideswipe's presence he nodded toward the red twin. "I don't know what you do in your own time, but just so you know, Ratchet has been notified and expects your visit."

"Why would Sunny need to go see Ratchet?" Sideswipe asked, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder in a silent gesture to calm the violent mech. He felt the golden plating vibrate under his hand.

Sunstreaker growled at the nickname. His voice was harsh when he spoke. "That's what I'm trying to find out!"

"Smokescreen has experience in this type of situation, I believe," Red Alert said in a thoughtful way, his cheek plates still flushed with a steely hue. "Just… whatever is comfortable for you."

With a nervous squeak he turned and made for Inferno and Powerglide, who were having a spirited conversation about the recent forest fires.

"What is up with that paranoid fragger?" Sideswipe asked, staring after the security mech.

"Needs a good frag," Sunstreaker sneered before shrugging his brother's hand away and leaving the rec room.

"Where are you going?" Sideswipe asked, knowing full well his brother hadn't ingested enough fuel for the upcoming hours of patrol they were scheduled for.

"The Twitchy One said I had a package," Sunstreaker said, stalking toward the security room. Red Alert had the room locked and believed the twins wouldn't be able to get in without his security codes, but he didn't know they had the codes for all the Command Staff. NO where was off limits to them.

"Oh, what did you order?" Sideswipe asked, keeping stride and feeling the angered pulse slip away to become a pleasing wave. "New paints?"

"New joint additives," Sunstreaker corrected, punching in Prowl's code and stepping through the door when it opened. "Found them in a magazine. Supposed to improve mobility and flexibility and enhance performance."

"Oh?" Sideswipe asked, now intrigued.

Sunstreaker found the package sitting on Red Alert's desk. With a smile he thrust his hand into the opened box and ripped out the packing materials, letting it fall haphazardly around the room. Its not like it was _his _office. It took a moment of searching through the packing materials, and when he found his prize, he extracted them from the box. Several small bottles were held in his hand. He frowned at them, thinking they would be bigger. They looked bigger in the magazine.

"Maybe it's a new lubricant that doesn't require excessive amounts?" Sunstreaker said thoughtfully, turning the little bottles over. The contents shifted, bubbles dotting their forms like frozen champagne.

Sideswipe had picked up the discarded paper and looked at the label. He frowned, then snickered. A piece of paper peeked from the box and he grabbed it up, scanning over its contents with barely suppressed laughter.

"What is so funny?" Sunstreaker demanded.

"This isn't a lubricant for your joints," Sideswipe said, holding up the packing slip from an infamous adult store. "It's for humans."

Sunstreaker gave his brother a questionable stare, his brow plates drawing down in confusion. "But, humans don't _have_ mechanical parts. They don't require lubrication."

"They do for interfacing," Sideswipe said, having already scoured Earth's cultures. He had laughed himself off line the first time he read that humans needed lubrication to mate. He imagined they squeaked when they rubbed their components together.

"What?" Sunstreaker asked, slack jawed. He just _knew_ his brother was playing a joke. He had to be. It was too surreal to be the truth.

"They require a _lube_ when they interface," Sideswipe said, holding back his giggles and nodding toward the collection of bottles in his brother's hand. "It does improve performance, and also allows their interface components to go together without damage from heat or friction."

"But they don't have…." Sunstreaker trailed off, confusion written all over his face.

"It slicks their interface equipment and supposed to enhance pleasure," Sideswipe said, finding his internals hurting from the force of holding back his laughter. If he lost control now, Sunstreaker would beat him senseless. He didn't like being thought a fool.

"How would you know?" Sunstreaker asked, feeling riled at the thought he didn't know this bit of information. Truthfully, he never researched human interfacing. Too disgusting.

"Sparkplug has a collection of human interface manuals that shows all the parts and how they fit together," Sideswipe said, remembering the revulsion he felt at seeing the 'hidden' parts of the human anatomy. Thank Primus they _were_ hidden. They were rather hideous looking.

Sunstreaker let out a miserable sigh. "So much for extended performance and guaranteed satisfaction."

"So, are you going to send them back?" Sideswipe asked, already guessing the answer. He barked in surprise when Sunstreaker spoke.

"No. I'm keeping them," Sunstreaker said, placing the bottles in his subspace.

"What? Why?" Sideswipe asked, giving his brother a crooked grin. "Plan on seducing a human and putting it to use?"

"Don't be crass," Sunstreaker said, heading for the door. "I'm going to use them to terrify Ratchet and Smokescreen. See how flustered I can get them before they break."

"Oh, my dear brother, I love the way you process!" Sideswipe crowed, following his twin out the door. "And after they break? You going after the rest of the crew too? Maybe I should order some?"

"After Ratchet and Smokescreen learn their lesson, then we will devise a plan that will not only make our comrades fear us, but the Decepticons as well," Sunstreaker extracted a bottle and smiled in a devilish way that sent chills along Sideswipe's spinal strut.

Sideswipe cackled with glee, clapping his brother on the shoulder and taking their final steps toward med bay. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

Sunstreaker shook the bottle, something labeled **Tongue Tingling Tangelo** and gave his brother a smirk that was illegal on Cybertron. "Don't say things like that while I'm holding lube."

Sideswipe's laughter followed the twins inside where Ratchet was no doubt preparing for what he believed to be a very difficult and uncomfortable talk about interspecies mating and safety protocols.

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Yes, Sideswipe looked at Sparkplugs girly magazines. The internet wasn't something that was popular back in the 80s, most people weren't able to afford a computer, let alone know the difference between 'dial up' and 'broadband.' So, it was an old school education for Siders.

Reviews will be loved and makes the chapters come faster! Hint hint hint

And if I can get to 200 reviews, I'll do a double posting in celebration.

THANK YOU to all reviewers! YOU ARE AWESOME!


	24. The Sun Doesn't Always Shine

**The Sun Doesn't Always Shine**

**AN: **Request fic for **CRAZY little dragon** who wanted a story as to where Sunstreaker's self hatred comes from (mentioned in Inside Out). I started out only using Prowl asking Sideswipe about Sunny, and before I knew it, this little chapter sprung into being. I hope its up to your expectations. It is a bit morbid, but I think it builds Sunny's character and gives a better understanding of his background.

**Starfire201- **Well, look who his twin is. There's a LOT of influence there!

**Lambor Terror Lep- **Well, the magazine said it enhanced performance and with that Lambo thinking ONLY about his horsepower, it kinda went downhill from there. I'm considering doing a supplemental to this one. Just depends.

**Kimmie98- **I overheard someone say "LUBE" the other day and this is where my mind went. Scary, isn't it? And yes, I know there's no shame in eating all those brownies. And since no one saw me eat them, then the calories DON'T count ;) I just have to stop eating so much chocolate! It makes me break out.

**AD Axel-** I take NO responsibility for what the readers do or act out while reading my fics. And I've done plenty of spit takes myself ;)

**DitzyMusicLover- **Thanks for the explanation and mums the word!

**Yoong- **Yes, the ultimate weapon to win this long war is actually flavored lubricant. Who knew? The human race ended a cosmic conflict that's been going on longer than mankind has existed, and yet, WE figure out how to end the whole mess. Great isn't it? Too bad all wars cant be ended the same way.

**StarLitDawn- ***sets up the O2 feed* Deep breaths. Yes, it was lube… and flavored no less. I don't know WHY a Lamborghini even ORDERED flavored lubricant, but its hard telling what goes on in that golden head of his.

**Blitz-Krazi-1- ***takes bow* Thank you. I do try. I'm not much of a reader on the site anymore due to the loaded teeny-bopper stuff that fills the pages, but every once in a while a story catches my interest. I hope to entertain 'all' age groups and keep it fresh, which Im sad to say, is a quality that seems to be lacking in a lot of modern fiction.

**Prowls-little-angel- **You are IN dear, and Sunstreaker mentions something about never speaking about this incident again. Yes, he loves to mess with others heads, but since he doesn't do the pranking that often, his victims never see it coming!

**Bluebird Soaring- **I thought it would be fun to glitch up Red Alert a bit. Not that he needs any help. And yes, Sides shares my view on human anatomy… its fun, but man, its it ever gross looking! Lol I 'might' do a supplemental to this, dealing with Sunny's conversation with the two unfortunate mechs that think they have to deal with some delicate topics. Not sure yet though. Got a lot on my plate right now.

**SEZwho94- **Well, Sunny would kill anyone who would mention his 'confusion' because let's face it, he's perfect and shouldn't make those type of mistakes. But then again, he needs to flex his prank-muscles and no one ever guesses the quiet one is the one to look out for!

**VaRa129**- Gosh! Glad you liked it! Thank you so much for your review and I'm thrilled the story is so well liked.

**Hope everyone likes! Its going to be rather dark, but there's some light at the end of this tunnel!**

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"Tele-Tran reported fluxions in the power grid for the thirty-ninth time since we were revived," Prowl was saying, exiting the staircase from the upper floors. "There is nothing down here but two storage bays, and one of them is completely destroyed by our crashing into the mountain."

"Why didn't you ask Wheeljack to inspect it?" Prime asked, wondering what in Primus name he was doing down here in the dungeons on the ARK. The crew didn't venture down this far, having only a real need to go as far as the brig and that was two floors above them. The two senior officers had to walk down two flights just to get to this cold, damp cellar.

"In case there is an access override needed, I prefer you input your code personally instead of relaying them to me, then having to change your codes due to security protocols," Prowl stated in a flat tone, as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

"Course," Prime muttered, motioning for the tactician to lead the way.

A light shone from overhead, its pitiful attempt to illuminate making shadows dance along the walls. Prowl scanned the area, looking for the source of the energy drain and with a finger, pointed in the direction of a hallway that looked like it tried to weave through an asteroid field. Either that or Jazz was dancing unattended. Again.

The hull was breached in several places, exposing sections of rock, and the once smooth metal was pockmarked from damage as wires hung like dead snakes. Prime brushed the obsolete wiring away, hearing Prowl softly pad behind him, his scanner humming as he searched for the source that caused the power fluxions. There were a few crates that were bunched in groups of three of four, someone seeing fit to huddle them together for companionship.

The two senior officers were almost to the end of the corridor when muffled voices could be discerned. Prime put up a hand to signal silence from Prowl, though the Praxian rarely made any noise. Weapons were the officers' hands in the blink of an optic and as shadows, they passed down the hall and poised, ready for action outside of a cargo bay. There was a tiny fluttering of light that could barely reach out into the main hall where the officers were poised. The feeble shadow along the orange walls mimicked the two observing mechs, but they paid them no heed. Prime took the chance to peer around the corner, his optics zeroing in through the semidarkness to locate the source of light. Quiet as wraiths they entered, finding stacked shipping crates and disused energon cubes.

A flash of brilliant ruby armor caught the light before disappearing in the dismal offering of two illumination banks. A third light flickered fitfully as if afraid to engage. There was no mistaking Sideswipe's well polished armor glinting as he flittered about his secret business.

Prime and Prowl exchanged glances, knowing there was mischief brewing. Two steps closer and both mechs could see into the little cul-de-sac that had been built by disused containers. The twins were huddled together in the back.

Prime placed his weapon back in his subspace, Prowl following suit once he recognized the two guilty Lamborghinis. He puffed his doorwings, a tirade forming and preparing to unleash on the duo, when Prime's hand pressed against his chassis, halting his words. Curious as to why Prime would do such a thing, Prowl waited in the dark, and heard Sideswipe speak.

"It's okay Sunny," Sideswipe said, tracing his servos along his brother's helm. "There's no one here who will hurt you."

Prowl frowned, a small part of him wondering what the twins were up to. It wasn't like them to be sequestered so far away and speaking in such gentle, hushed tones. Both were loud, crude, and boisterous, and in Sunstreaker's case, violent. There was only one reason why they would seek solitude and that was to devise their infamous pranks. Prowl felt his energon boil in his lines, knowing the two were up to no good. Prowl sidestepped his leader, every intention of yelling at the two for their conspiring, when he stopped short upon the scene before him.

Sunstreaker was huddled on the floor, whimpering in sparkling-like clicks and cries. Sideswipe cradled his brother to him, brushing his servos along Sunstreaker's helm and speaking in quiet, soft words, his expression tender. The twins were hidden in the dim shadows projected by the assortment of crates and containers that had survived the crash.

"What in the name of Primus is going on here?" Prowl demanded, startling Sideswipe. Sunstreaker cringed closer to his twin, clicking in distress.

Sideswipe's head shot up, his optics wide in terror. He clutched Sunstreaker closer to him. His expression went from shock to enraged anger.

"Get out!" Sideswipe snapped at the two senior officers. He didn't acknowledge rank or station at this point. They were just two bots who were witnessing a private moment. "Get out! This is none of your business!"

The third illumination bank chose that moment to engage, adding more light to the duo curled on the floor. When the light fell across the two bodies, Prime and Prowl couldn't hold back the gasps of horror that escaped.

Sunstreaker's form was bathed in light, highlighting his features. His usual immaculate armor was gone, cast aside and glittering in the offered light. He was stripped to his protoform, and the normal platinum coloring was mottled in pewter scars. They crossed his body in a patchwork, resembling a body that had been pieced together by a mad scientist. Every inch of Sunstreaker's body bore the marks of cruelty and suffering.

"Primus," Prime whispered, stepping forward as he opened a comm. to Ratchet for assistance. His comm. bounced back, unable to penetrate to the upper levels. "What have you done, Sideswipe?"

"Get out! You have no business being here! This is private!" Sideswipe said, tightening his hold on his twin when Sunstreaker responded at the sound of a foreign voice.

Prowl followed his leader's example and remained at his side, ready to assist if the situation called for it. When he stepped closer, he could see the overlapping weld marks that traced Sunstreaker's battered protoform. Sideswipe pressed his twin closer to him, glaring hatefully at the two senior officers.

Prime knelt in front of Sideswipe, opening his arms and nodding to Sunstreaker. "Just, give him to me, Sideswipe."

"No!" Sideswipe snapped, his optics blazing a furious white. "I said this is _private_! This is not your concern!** Leave**!"

"I can't do that," Prime said, reaching out a hand to touch Sunstreaker. When the golden warrior whimpered at the touch, Prime felt something deep inside go cold. He had no idea something like this was going on. How long Sunstreaker had been suffering in silence, he didn't know. But he had every intention of putting a stop to it. As if reading his mind, Prowl stepped behind Sideswipe and struck the tender spot at the base of his neck, the place that Ratchet liked to employ when the twins got out of control. It didn't send them into stasis like most bots, but it did keep them disoriented and weakened for some time.

Sideswipe twitched, his hold lessening on his twin. Prowl swooped in, clutching Sideswipe from behind and immobilizing his arms behind his back. Sideswipe struggled weakly from the disorienting blow he received, trying to reach his brother, but Prowl was well adept at subduing someone.

"Leave him alone!" Sideswipe shouted, trying to break free from Prowl who was kneeling behind him. "Get away from him! You don't understand! Don't touch him!"

Prime caught Sunstreaker before he could hit the floor when Sideswipe had lost his hold. He expected Sunstreaker to give a sigh of relief at being rescued from his apparent attacker, but Sunstreaker recoiled from Prime's touch, his body trembling. The fumes of high grade permeated the golden warrior as he flinched from Prime, his body racked with tremors. His hands pushed against Prime's chest, trying to get a suitable distance away from the strange mech he perceived through his muddled processor.

"I'm sorry," Sunstreaker muttered, his voice laced with static as he tried to push Prime away. "I didn't mean to. Please, don't hurt me!"

"I would never," Prime said, finding it disconcerting that Sunstreaker was so placid and fearful. Prime never thought he'd miss Sunstreaker's usual violent temper. "I only wish to help."

"You can't," Sideswipe answered when Sunstreaker could only whimper in submission. He stopped struggling against Prowl and sagged in the Second's arms, his expression grief stricken. His tone sounded exhausted and hopeless. "You can't help him."

Prime looked to Sideswipe, his expression worried. "What do you mean? What have you done?"

"I haven't done anything,' Sideswipe said, and his own voice was cracking with emotion as he stared at his trembling twin. One of his hands came to rest on Prowl's that maintained a firm hold to keep him from reaching his brother. "I would never hurt him."

Prime took a good look at the scars that adorned Sunstreaker's body. It only took a few seconds to understand that the scars were _old_. Inflicted long ago. They weren't fresh wounds incurred from a recent attack. It became obvious that Sideswipe was not causing him harm.

"Where did these scars come from?" Prime asked in a hushed voice, so unlike his own commanding tone. Sunstreaker flinched, broken sobs escaping from him as he closed his optics, waiting for a heavy blow to fall. Prime realized Sideswipe wasn't hurting Sunstreaker. He was comforting him as he succumbed to a memory. Something that haunted his spirit.

"Our creators," Sideswipe said, his hands going to the latches along his chest. Prowl's hold lessened when he realized what Sideswipe was doing. With fumbling fingers, Sideswipe released the last catch, allowing his jeweled armor to fall to the floor with a loud report that made Sunstreaker jerk as if struck. When the protective armor fell away, the light bathed his protoform and highlighted the scars that adorned his body as well. Both officers were sickened by the revelation, and couldn't help but notice that Sunstreaker bore twice the scars as his twin.

"When we were sparked, we were supposed to be **one**. Our creators wanted, 'one'," Sideswipe explained, his expression sorrowful as he stared at his whimpering twin. "We were abnormal. Aberrations. Our lives weren't meant to be. We deserve our punishment for defying Primus's will and splitting."

Prowl's fist tightened, wanting to throttle someone who would tell such a thing to a youngling. It was just….wrong. He could see and feel Sideswipe shiver, his emotions weighing heavy on him as he also took the brunt of his twins' suffering. Subconsciously, Prowl placed his hand on Sideswipe's back in silent support. He could feel the tremors in the frontliner's frame shake his very core.

"We were punished for not remaining a single spark," Sideswipe said, his hand going to the scarred plating above his spark chamber. He could feel his brother's fear bleeding through as if it were his own. "We are the dross of Primus, and it is only fitting that we are reminded of our worth."

"Junk," Sunstreaker sobbed in Prime's arms, causing the Autobot leader to look at his soldier with concern. A soft hiccup of fear was broken by a static filled whimper. "Useless."

Prime may have been the stoic leader of the Autobots, but the reason **why** the Matrix of Leadership chose him as its vessel, was not for his stature but his compassion. He felt something break deep in his spark, looking at the fractured soldier held at arms length, his body trembling with emotional turbulence.

Unable to think of anything else to do, Prime embraced Sunstreaker, feeling the smaller mech fold against him in submission, his head tucked under Prime's chin as he clicked in fearful surrender. Prime's body vibrated from Sunstreaker's tremors.

"I'm so sorry, Sunstreaker," Prime said softly, wishing to take away the mech's suffering.

As if in answer, Prime felt a tug along his chest plates, but it wasn't from Sunstreaker. It felt more like it came from the _inside_. He frowned, and with reluctance, withdrew from Sunstreaker, earning a frightened chirp of a tortured youngling. Sunstreaker winced, expecting a blow.

A great thundering filled the room, earning startled looks from the three sober mechs. Sunstreaker whined, cringing away from the torment he knew was coming. Prime looked down, realizing the noise was coming from him. Or to be more precise the thing residing in his chest. Unbidden his chest plates split, the thundering noise lowering to a low hum as the Matrix revealed itself, called forth from its place of protection.

Unable to control his traitorous frame, Prime watched with wide optics as the ancient artifact made its presence known. The edges fractured, allowing it to open. Prime made a noise of protest, but the Matrix had a will of its own. With a gentle wave, it called the other spark forth.

Sunstreaker wasn't coherent enough to send the mental command to open his spark chamber, but his spark already knew how to answer the call. It opened its sealed cage, the energy blinding and raw with emotional instability. As a frightened child, it sent a desperate plea, going right into the soul of the Matrix.

Sideswipe gasped, clutching his own chassis as he felt his brother's pain. His knees felt weak and he was sure he was falling into a chasm from where he would never return. Arms wrapped around him and kept him centered in reality, holding him steadfast against the torrent crashing through his spark. He felt dizzy and cold, like spinning through the vastness of space, the chilling breath of isolation clawing at him, all the while his spark crying out for solace.

In answer to Sunstreaker's cry, a tendril escaped from the Matrix, pulsing and brilliant white, calling its child forward. Sunstreaker's spark tried to respond, its attempt a meek flicker of acknowledgement before retreating back into itself, a skittish soul with fear ingrained into its very being. With a determined pulse, the Matrix extended its power, surging forth and presenting its energy in offering. A tangible, thread-like extraction reached from the Prime's chest and into the battered, broken body before it.

Though Sunstreaker was lost in a phantom world of pain and suffering, the Matrix easily navigated the memories, pushing them aside and offering its own steadfast power to replace the hurt.

The tendril of hope waited for Sunstreaker's spark to accept its mercy, for that's what comprised the Matrix's core. It granted peace to those who were broken. That was what the ancient artifact symbolized. It embodied not only the power of the Prime able to wield it with the unfathomable compassion he held for his people, but it held the grace and wisdom of the ages, locked in its core, ready to extend to those in need.

Sunstreaker's optics were half lidded, the charge coursing through his system making him delirious to everything around him. He may had not have been cognizant enough to realize what was being offered, but his spark knew. With a mighty wrench, his subconscious pushed forth, allowing the connection to the ancient artifact. As soon as their energies touched, there was a soft whisper against Sunstreaker's soul, telling him to be at peace, and not to dwell on things past. It was time to heal those wounds. They had been infected for long enough.

Sunstreaker whimpered, his optics unfocused as he felt rather than saw Prime in front of him, a blinding light that offered the very peace and absolution that had haunted the golden mech since his sparking.

The Matrix pulled the hurt and torment away from its child, granting solace upon the soul that had suffered for so long. The Matrix took the hatred, anger, retribution, self loathing into its core, turning the negative energy into positive, using it to build its own foundations and making it stronger, its energy growing with every Cybertronian who released their suffering and called upon its cleansinggrace.

Sunstreaker let out a soft sigh, his optics falling closed as he went limp in Prime's grasp. The tendrils of energy separated, the Matrix returning to the protective casing in Prime's chest. His plates resealed, keeping the ancient artifact safe. He stared at Sunstreaker, his processor trying to grasp what had happened.

The physical scars would always remain, but Prime knew the spiritual scars were already on their way to mending. He looked to Prowl and Sideswipe. Both were clutched against each other, staring at the mystic scene before them. Their arms were wrapped tightly around each other, as if using the other as an anchor to the physical plane.

A minute passed in silence, until Sunstreaker snored, snuggling closer to the warmth of the body holding him. Prime gave a start, looking to the smaller mech cradled against him. He felt an echo of the pain and spark ache that had haunted Sunstreaker. He was grateful he was still kneeling because the emotional backlash was enough to send him crashing to his knees.

"What…. Was that?" Sideswipe asked in a meek voice, his hand going to his chassis and rubbing the spot above his spark chamber. There was a strange sensation in his spark that had never been present before. It was worrisome.

"I don't know,' Prime admitted. He looked to his chest, his expression just as awestruck as the other two mechs.

"Will he be alright?" Sideswipe asked, disengaging himself from his nemesis and staring at his twin. A peaceful blanket settled in his spark, Sunstreaker's side of the bond wide open and expressing its relief.

"I… believe so," Prime said, not sure how he knew this information. He frowned, looking to Sideswipe and adding, "Why did you not come to me sooner?"

"We didn't think there was anything that you could have done," Sideswipe admitted, feeling a sense of serenity flowing from his twin. It was enough to make him unsteady. "This was something that **we** had to deal with."

"With high grade?' Prowl asked, noting the still that was set up in the corner, along with the multitude of cubes that surrounded the quartet. Not to mention the fumes coming off of Sunstreaker were enough to make a mech stagger.

"Sunny has always bore the worst of the pain, but he keeps everything in the back of his possessor, hidden," Sideswipe explained. He nodded toward the still, a part of him knowing that Prowl was going to have it dismantled, "But sometimes, Sunny… remembers. What was done to us. What was said. How we were treated. And when he remembers….. He needs something to take away the nightmares."

"And high grade does this?" Prowl asked skeptically.

"It keeps them to a minimum, yes," Sideswipe said. "He copes the only way he knows how."

"And you?" Prowl promoted.

"I survive," Sideswipe said softly, watching as his brother slumbered in Prime's arms. Their leader seemed reluctant to release his charge.

Sideswipe shot Prowl a sidelong glance, "You can confiscate the still but I will set up another one. This won't change. I'll do whatever I must to help my brother."

"You may keep it," Prowl said, earning a startled noise from Sideswipe.

"I can?" Sideswipe asked. "Why?"

"Medicinal purposes," Prowl said nodding to Sunstreaker, who had enough charge in his system to run a power grid for a month. "You claim it helps Sunstreaker to cope." Sideswipe nodded in affirmation, so Prowl gave a curt nod, "Then it can be classified as a medicinal necessity. However I do not believe others need to be made aware of it, nor that there needs to be any _excess_ of said illegal grade."

"Understood," Sideswipe said. A huge balloon of relief exploded in his chest. "Thanks" he added.

"It is merely protocol," Prowl stated. Sideswipe gave him an incredulous look and he added, "It has granted you both, however questionable the reasoning, a measure of comfort. However, I believe you both may benefit from speaking with Smokescreen or Ratchet instead of charging yourselves into stasis."

"It's no ones business," Sideswipe said, very much aware at how that sounded to the two senior officers. "This is something that we have to deal with. No one else."

"Everyone is entitled to find that which gives the peace, and allows them to continue with their lives," Prowl said, nodding to Sunstreaker who was now slumbering in quiet contentment in Prime's arms.

"Bit odd, coming from you," Sideswipe said, not wanting to sound harsh, but Prowl's look of hurt made him want to punch himself. "Sorry," he muttered.

Prowl grabbed the side latch on his chassis, and with a few flicks, easily moved the protective armor to the side, displaying his own scarred protoform, though it paled in comparison to the marks bore by the twins. "Do not think you are alone in suffering from your creation. We all bear the mark of those who saw us as something other than what we are."

Sideswipe gasped at seeing the pewter scars, their presence speaking louder than words. Sideswipe understood their meaning. The twins were not alone. They didn't have to suffer in the cold, dark, underground basement. There were others who had suffered the same, and they could understand.

**00000—OOOOOO-IIIIIII-0000-OOOOO-IIII-0000-OOOO-IIIII**

Thoughts, ideas, requests, concrit, all are welcome. And I'm just tickled that I'm getting so many wonderful reviews. That just makes me giggle and my muse start to babble. When there are so few reviews, I feel like I let everyone down and I didn't do my best. So, the encouragement helps, guys. A LOT! THANK YOU SO MUCH!

And I hope a scene like this one hasn't already been done to death. Man, that would just kill my endorphins right now.

And I honestly don't know WHY Prowl keeps popping up in these fics. He just seems to be a great epicenter for angst and keeping the twins grounded. And he's fun to crash or make his processor ache.


	25. Side Bar

**SIDE BAR**

**G1 Frames- Current timeline **(makes it slightly AU or else there's a paradox and we know what happens then. Just as the Doctor!)

**AN**: Seeing how the last chapter kinda sputtered with mixed (and limited) reviews, I thought I'd go back to some good old fashioned mischief and leave the drama for a later time. Though the next update will be a request fic for **RATCHETROCKS **and its going to be rife with drama.

**Krysala- **Well I may elaborate on the dynamics of the twins and Prowls past, but I'll see what my muse comes up with. I never know what she's going to spout out at the most inane times.

**Lambor Terror Lep- **Yes, their creators were wrong to punish them for being alive, but remember, 'What doesnt kill you, only makes you stronger'. And I believe the twins are so eloquent at their jobs because of their abusive pasts. It takes a strong willed person to stand on the front lines and be the first to engage the enemy.

**Kimmie98- **I think the war took care of the twins' creators. At least I hope so. Hope Decepticons razed them in every aspect. I think Prowl would be cheering the Cons on!

**VaRa129- **Yeah, I cried a bit myself. No shame in that. To clear it up, the twins were beaten because they split. They didn't remain 'one' like all of Primus' creations. So when they split, their creators saw it as a mockery to Primus and punished them for defying his will.

**SEZwho94- **Oh gosh! Thank you! I hoped to do something different with the Matrix. And I wanted to add a dash of Optimus. I think its very interesting that above all those that resided on Cybertron, the Matrix chose a dock worker to bear it. That says a lot about his compassion and ability to look past the physical and see the emotional/spark/ true nature of a person.

**Blitz-Krazi-1- **Yeah, I see fics all the time where the Matrix is only referenced to Prime and not its true, original intent/construction. I don't think anyone has written a fic as to the origin or use of the Matrix, and how being such an ancient, precious artifact that CHOSES its own bearer, I mean, it has to be able to see into a bots spark. It has to find its bearer worthy, and some of the most powerful things in the universe are Love and compassion. What better wielder than someone who feels for not only those they KNOW, but for those they never met or may fight/argue against.

**Prowls-little-angel- **No, you and the twins never did anything. *snickers* I'll never tell! Glad you liked the chapter and yes, I know the twins have been abused in other fics and haunted by it. In fact I have an idea or two that delves a bit more into that, but I don't want to overdo it. And I wanted to give them some closure to start the healing process. I don't think a lot of writers cover that aspect. They torture them and then let them stay haunted. I wanted to let their spirits start to heal. Can you imagine the look on Ratchet's face the first time he worked on the twins and saw all the damage?

**Yoong- **Well, I see Prime as being the epitome of compassion. I think he would even forgive the Decepticons for their sins, barring they didn't try to kill anyone again. And Prowl I see as having strong emotions, but he keeps them hidden because he perceives them to be weak. Maybe that's a side effect of being tormented by his creators, but I see him as finding it difficult to do his job and allow emotions to rule his judgment. That type of thinking (with the spark) would only result in more tragedy and death. He has to be apart from that to do his job effectively.

**This chapter is rather short, and those don't happen very often! Hope everyone enjoys!**

**Reviewers will be rewarded with Lamborghinis. And yes, I'm whoring them out. LOL**

**0000-oooo-IIIII-000000-oooooo-IIIIIII-000000**

"I figured it out!" Sideswipe said when he heard the door to his quarters open and Sunstreaker stepped inside.

"The exact moment when you lost your mind?" Sunstreaker deadpanned, going to his berth and removing a cloth to wipe down his plating. He hated patrolling the cities. He always collected twice amount of dust and debris as any other Autobot. He guessed it was because he was so slagging handsome, the dust clung to him out of sheer magnetism. It made cleaning a constant chore. Not that he minded.

"No, still haven't figured that out yet," Sideswipe said good-naturedly, mixing two little bottles and swirling their contents. "What I figured out this time is that if you mix just a dash of sodium, with some carbon and a few other little ingredients, you get the cure for overenergizing!"

"Really?" Sunstreaker asked, tossing the soiled cloth into a cleaning bin and grabbing another for an extra polish.

"Yup!" Sideswipe smiled, raising a small vial in salute before tipping it back.

Sunstreaker barked out a warning, but his twin paid no heed. He watched in frozen shock as his brother smacked his lip components in thought, then gave a nod of acceptance.

"Bit tangy," Sideswipe said, rolling the taste around his analyzers. "But not the worst thing I've ever ingested."

"You idiot!" Sunstreaker hissed, grabbing his twin by the shoulders and giving him a violent shake. "You shouldn't be experimenting with chemicals! Has Wheeljack taught you anything?"

"I won't blow myself up," Sideswipe said, giving his brother an exasperated look. "I have better sense than that."

"That's debatable," Sunstreaker snapped, releasing his twin. He stalked to his berth and removed a can of polish, sitting on the edge and buffing his left pede. "Keep this up and I'll end up an only child." He gave his twin a twisted sneer. "Be a welcome change!"

"Aft," Sideswipe singsonged with a smile, knowing his twin was only looking out for his best interest. But Sunstreaker knew he had been working on this 'remedy' for quite some time. Sideswipe was determined to beat Smokescreen at his favorite drinking game.

"Just a little dose now, then another dose after a couple of shots," Sideswipe said with a grin, subspacing his new counteragent and waving to his twin. "See you later, Bro! I'm off to finally win a bet with Smokescreen!"

"Doubtful," Sunstreaker muttered after his twin departed, the cleaning cloth vigorous across his plating. "Stupid slagger just doesn't learn."

**REC ROOM- 3 HOURS LATER**

"Sunrise…sunset," Sideswipe crooned, waving his arms and doing a strange little dance as he entered the rec room.

"Oh, Primus, he's gone Yiddish," Jazz moaned. "Someone stop him."

"New rule," Prowl said passively, sipping his cube while he stared at the drunken frontliner. "Sideswipe's not allowed to watch musicals."

"Slag," Jazz muttered, watching as Sideswipe grabbed his brother in a bear hug. "And I just bought him 'Moulin Rouge'." He let out an exasperated sigh as Sunstreaker punched his twin, landing the ruby warrior on his aft. "And I was looking forward to seeing him prance around like a courtesan."

"You're sick, Jazz. Completely and utterly deranged in the processor," Prowl amended, not bothering to interrupt Sunstreaker giving his brother a couple of good kicks for measure. With a few choice words the citrine twin stormed out of the room, muttering something about fresh polish.

Sideswipe regained his pedes, swaying a little from the overcharge racing through his circuits. He squared his shoulders, his helm canting to the side a couple of times and a static filled noise issued from his vocalizer, like a radio being tuned. With a gruff grunt, he called to the room at large.

"I want to know what love is!" Sideswipe half sang, half spoke. He looked around the room, spotted the two monochromatic officers and like a channel switched on a tv set, he pointed a stern finger at the two and snapped, "I want a report on my desk ASAP! No excuses this time!"

Prowl arched an optic ridge at the commanding tone. Jazz muffled a snicker. Sideswipe turned, overbalancing and catching a chair for support, before marching a crooked path out of room, heading to destination unknown. As soon as he turned, Jazz couldn't hold back his laughter any more and erupted with electronic snorts. Even Prowl was snickering.

Printed across Sideswipe's aft in perfect, Praxian print was the declaration:

**SMOKESCREEN WAS HERE**

**0000-oooo-IIIII-000000-oooooo-IIIIIII-000000**

In case you're wondering, Smokescreen has a wicked sense of humor and loves the fact that Sideswipe keeps failing at trying to beat him at a drinking game.

Remember, reviews make the world go round, and makes my muse dizzy and babbling.

Requests and concrit are also welcome.

Much love and appreciation to my wonderful readers!


	26. When the Sun Goes Dark

**When the Sun Goes Dark**

Request fic for: R**ATCHETROCKS (**let me know what you think**)**

**CRAZY little Dragon- **Yes, I've been working diligently to give my readers some extra reading materials. ;) Yes Smokey has style… we're not just sure what to call it. Lol

**Starfire201- **No, Sideswipe is a typical male I'm sad to say. And I would pay to see him prance around like a courtesan, wouldn't you? Lol And I think he'd laugh off Smokey's joke. He never takes anything too seriously, including himself.

**Kimmie98- **Yes, Sides just never learns. I think he enjoys the idea of losing himself to something more potent. And your Lambo is on its way. I'll meet you at the track… I've driving the black Reventon. ;)

**Lambor Terror Lep- **Well, our little Lamb is going to be experimenting until he gets it right. He is DETERMINED to beat Smokescreen at drinking games. And updates are coming every 2-3 days to help ease your fix. I've been spoiling ya'll!

**VaRa129- **Well, nothing bad happened per say. Sideswipe just lost at a drinking game… again. It rubs his circuits he cant beat Smokey! Hehehe Revenge is sweet… shhhh

**AD Axel- **Yes, bad bad bad. j/k Yeah, I don't drink either. I get the same effect if I stand up too fast and I get the added bonus of remembering WHERE I am and WHAT happened when I wake up… and I still have my underwear! Bonus! Yes, Sides was channeling his inner Prowl… he can be commanding when he wants to be. snickers

**DitzyMusicLover- **As a child of an abusive grandmother, yes, you are right. It happens and most of the time, no one is aware. But, what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger, and I believe I have a stronger constitution because of such early 'lessons.' Yeah, Sunstreaker's line sounded like my hubby when we were dating. He always wondered where my insanity came from.. then he met my family. Smokey never does anything without reason. He's a sneaky bastard. Comes with his job. *Sings Foreigner with you*

**Prowls-little-angel- **Oh, I like that idea! His helm IS vacant… though I see Sunstreaker putting it on his interface panel instead. *snort*

**Young- **Well, the dust is double on him and let's face it.. he's just gorgeous! Can't blame the dust now my dear. I'll add your suggestion to my pile and see what the muse comes up with.

**Blitz-Krazi-1- **Good news… drunk Sideswipe staggered into my life again and my muse is currently cooking up some deviousness with him. God help us. Admittedly there are some lines that crack me up after I write them. I don't know WHAT the twins are going to be doing until the words appear.

**StarlitDawn- **The muse is now working with Sideswipe and they are 'expanding' on what happened this time when he was hammered. Hint… its NOT going to be pretty.

**SEZwho94- **Nope, poor slagging bastard never learns. Typical male. I daresay that Sideswipe will eventually find a 'cure' and Smokescreen wont know what hit him. Lol

**THANK YOU SO MUCH TO ALL MY REVIEWERS! I almost have 200!**

**(**squeals and dies from excitement) That's never happened to me before! If I hit 200, I'll do a double post in celebration. Course, they will be uploaded a day apart… I already upload every 2-3 days… I've spoiled you lot. ;) But I love every minute of it and the comments are like food to a starving person.

AN: This chapter is kind of quick/short, but I didn't want to drag it out. I'm bumming myself out with all the angst/drama as of late. I wanna post a couple of happy/upbeat chapters here soon.

**00000-OOOO-IIIIII-0000000-OOOOO-IIIIIII-0000-OOOO-IIIIIII**

Battle raged on.

Bots shouted, weapons fired, the dying screamed their last song to the heavens, seekers sped over head, their ire rained down from above and to those who didn't have sufficient cover. Voices pleaded for mercy. Some shouted for a quick termination to end their misery. Most of the fatal understood their fate, and accepted it. Others were still screaming for the world to heed their pleas.

But none of that mattered.

All that mattered was for Sideswipe to find Sunstreaker and stopped the pain. Using his bond as an internal position detector, Sideswipe raced along the battle field, ignoring orders filling his comms and dodging through war zones. Enemy or alley, they all blended together and they didn't register to Sideswipe's focused gaze. Only one other spark mattered. And it was sending out a distress so clear, Sideswipe could have detected it galaxies away.

A flash of gold and Sideswipe changed direction, shooting at a purple mech and hearing him curse as he retreated to a safer location. Sideswipe saw Sunstreaker lying on the ground, his back scorched black from weapons fire and energon pooling beneath him.

"Sunny?" Sides shouted, sliding next to his twin and grasping his shoulder. He could feel Sunstreaker's spark sending out waves of raw agony, crying out as his soul bled upon the battlefield.

Sunstreaker offered a low groan, his optics fluttering in semi-awareness. His frame trembled as Sideswipe grasped his shoulder, trying to find a non-damaged area to get a firm grip to turn his brother over. Sunstreaker's frame was charred and warped, making it difficult.

"Oh, Sunny," Sideswipe muttered, turning his bother over with more care than he had ever shown.

Sunstreaker cried out from the movement, the pain making him delirious to the world around him. His optic shutters had a hard time opening, his blue optics dimming as he fought for consciousness.

"Sides….?" Sunstreaker asked, using a nickname though he hated such titles. The usage of such an endearment alerted Sideswipe to just how far gone his brother was.

"I'm here," Sideswipe said, cradling his twin to him.

Sunstreaker coughed, energon spraying from his lip components and hitting Sideswipe, but the red warrior didn't care. He scanned his twins form, trying to figure out the best course of action. He had basic field repair training, but he knew it would be insufficient for the horrible rending of the golden frame.

Sideswipe didn't know where to begin. There were several ruptured lines along Sunstreaker's frame, painting his golden armor to the pearly cast of spilled energon. The pool of pale lavender fluid was being absorbed into the ground, drinking in thirsty gulps of the life blood of a warrior. Sideswipe fretted, not sure how to staunch the flow of energon from his brother. There was a gaping hole in Sunstreaker's chest. Circuits sparked and sizzled, and as Sideswipe inspected the wound, he realized that Sunstreaker's spark chamber was breached. Sunstreaker's spark flickered in fretful flashes like his optics.

"Just hold on, Sunny," Sideswipe said, sending out a call for assistance on all Autobot frequencies. He prayed Ratchet was near by. He didn't have a clue on how to begin treatment for such injuries.

Sunstreaker had a hard time retracting his optical shudders. He didn't even rankle at the nickname. He merely gazed into his twins face, his expression soft. The pain was falling away, taken to places where it could no longer hurt him. A gentle peace flowed into his spark, wrapping it in comfort and serenity. Sunstreaker couldn't recall feeling so peaceful in his entire, brutal existence. It was a welcomed respite that he clung to with desperate servos.

"It's okay Sideswipe," Sunstreaker uttered, his venting slowing.

Sideswipe felt hot, like his internals were boiling in his frame ready to burst like a volcano regurgitating lava. He didn't like the quiet surrender of Sunstreaker's presence in their bond.

"No, its not okay," Sideswipe said, his face plates getting hot from the emotion he was trying to keep at bay. He could feel his twin slipping away.

"It's going to be alright, Sideswipe," Sunstreaker said his body going lax in his brother's arms. "It's okay. You can let me go."

"No!" Sideswipe snapped, shaking his twin and screaming through the comms for Ratchet to hurry.

Sunstreaker's optics darkened, his vents a pale whisper. His fans slowed, then stopped, throwing the war zone into silences.

Sideswipe felt the warm thrum of his twin's life fade, giving one last weak pulse of life before falling silent. The bond closed, throwing Sideswipe into cold isolation. Out of instinct he pushed along the bond, waiting for Sunstreaker's answering call. But it never came. Only the still emptiness where once a spark beat echoed in his soul. A part of his soul that now gone. Missing, lost to places unknown

Sideswipe tried to scream and rave, to shout his misery to the heavens, but no sound escaped. He was mute in his pain. He held his brother's cooling form against him and rocked, trying to push the warmth of his body into his twins and feel that pulse of life beat in tandem with his own. But his efforts went unanswered. All the warmth was stolen from his frame. The life drained away as it had left the battered golden shell clutched against his chest.

Like an animal clawing its way out of a cage, Sideswipe pushed all his fear, misery, and agony into the world and gave it a voice, his vocalizer straining with sorrow. Sunstreaker's lifeless frame disintegrated, leaving the ruby warrior all alone.

As Sideswipe found his voice, he shot upright on the berth, his optics flying open to reveal the orange walls of the ARK. Spark pounding he looked around the room and saw his twin stretched out on his berth, his paint as flawless and polished as ever. Sideswipe scrambled off his berth and without invitation, crawled onto Sunstreaker's berth, his helm on his brother's chest, listening to the beat of life within the golden chassis.

Sunstreaker kept his optics closed, allowing his brother the quiet comfort. Many times Sideswipe had suffered from bad memory loops or horrific memory purges. Each time he woke from one of these episodes he always sought the sanctuary of his twin. Sunstreaker never complained. He accepted his role as shelter for his brother, allowing him the time and physical contact needed to affirm his consciousness in this reality and not be plagued by the things that haunted his charge.

Sunstreaker always knew when Sideswipe was in distress. His spark would send out a pang of stress and sorrow that awoke Sunstreaker and alerted him to the mental torment his brother was enduring.

Sideswipe listened to his brother's steady beat of life, reassured that they still survived. If Sunstreaker lived, then so too did Sideswipe.

Sighing in resignation, Sunstreaker scooted back on his berth, giving his brother room to curl up next to him. Whatever haunted Sideswipe would not plague him while charging next to his twin.

"Promise that you won't leave me," Sideswipe said knowing his brother was awake. Sunstreaker's consciousness brushed his own in a constant caress to his mind. They were always linked. Forever.

"I'm not going anywhere," Sunstreaker said, wondering what had his brother so upset. Whatever it was it must have been bad to invoke such a reaction.

"Promise?" Sideswipe whispered, burying his face in his brother's neck.

Sunstreaker could feel the trembling of Sideswipe's form and resigned to placing his arm over his brother's that was wrapped around his midsection so tight, Sunstreaker was thankful he didn't have to breathe.

"I promise," Sunstreaker said patting his brother by way of showing affection. Sunstreaker wasn't an emotional mech. Touchy feely moments weren't his forte. Moments such as this made him feel awkward and inadequate, as if he couldn't fulfill the emotional need of the one seeking his presence and reassurance.

Sideswipe smiled, accepting Sunstreaker's answer. He felt a huge swell of relief expand form his body and threaten to burst his seams.

"That's good," Sideswipe muttered, feeling the call of charge pulling at his consciousness once again. "Because I don't think I could survive without you."

Sunstreaker felt his brother fall into a peaceful slumber, Sideswipe's hold tightening in his charge. Resigned to the fact that he was confined to his brother's death grip, Sunstreaker closed his optics and fell into a fitful charge.

**00000-OOOO-IIIIII-0000000-OOOOO-IIIIIII-0000-OOOO-IIIIIII**

**Remember… almost 200 reviews! (does happy dance) **


	27. Side Splitter

**Side Splitter **

**DitzyMusicLover- **Thanks! I worry about putting too much or not enough of something in a story. Its hard to find a good balance sometimes.

**Cybela- **Gosh! A new reviewer! Thanks so much for the wonderful words of encouragement. Well, no guarantees on 'death' chapters. I honestly don't know where the muse is going until I have a cup of coffee in the morning and glare at the screen from the night before. Hope you stick around.. there's some "interesting" chapters on the way.

**Kimmie98- **And Sunny would throttle us both if he heard you say that. Thanks for the target on my back. LOL

**Lambor Terror Lep- **Yes, they are touchy feely…. And would slag us for even _thinking_ such a thing.

**Starfire201- **I have added your request to the list We'll see what the muse comes up with. I have some.. questionable… chapters outlined/half finished that I seriously don't know WHERE they came from.

**Young- **You know the twins worst fear is losing each other. I mean, they feel/sense everything, and to those of us who are close to someone, it's the worst feeling in the world to think you may lose them. Doesn't mean I cant torture the twins in the meantime. :D

**AD Axel- **And Sunny is going to step on all of us who suggest he's a soft spark. Man, didn't realize that so many people were going to be massacred by a deranged Lamborghini for this chapter. Lol

**Skittles the Sugar Fairy- **I promise, the notes will be shorter. I just cant express my gratitude enough to those who leave a review. And I want to ensure that everyone receives a reply because every one of my reviewers is important and I want to let them know how much their reviews mean to me, which is why I put ya'll **first** before the chapter. I could gush all day, but I'll make it brief. :D I hope you stick with me because there are some… 'questionable' chapters upcoming. May need to get Wheeljack to install safety harnesses… our luck, they'd explode when clicked!

**Blitz-Krazi-1- **Sorry about the heart attack. Next time, I'll aim for a faint. LOL Gosh, I'm all aflutter with the flattery! And yes, Sunny is OK… for now. I make no promises for what's on the horizon in the next few chapters. As soon as I get them done/edited, I'll upload them. I'm doing pretty good with the consistency so far. :D

**Prowls-little-angel- **Well, Sunny may not be safe in later chapters. I make no promises on that aspect. And your challenge has been added to the list. I have a couple of chapters just about finished, and hopefully the muse will take a look at my 'to do' pile and give me a good idea.

**SEZwho94- **Sunny IS a nightmare. LOL Don't you just want to coddle them both? (goes all motherly) Sideswipe would let me coddle him… Sunny would beat me or step on me in protest.

**StarLitDawn- **Well, Sunny gets the near death experiences because he inflicts so many of them himself. *takes bow* He's going to be in for it… mark my words. ;)

**RatchetRocks- **Wow.. I'm just… flabbergasted. Speechless. (marks wall) I'm just tickled pink that you liked it. I always worry that I didn't do something right or didn't write enough or did too much.. ect. I love writing for others (quick story/chapter/ect) and I'm just thrilled you took the time to think about what you wanted to see/read and wrote out the request in a review. And your words of encouragement couldn't have come at a better time. I have been thinking about pursuing another job along the author/editor field. You gave me the confirmation that I needed to let me know that it was time to change careers and do what I love best. Writing. **Thank you** for delivering God's message to me.

**VaRa129- **I make no promises that either twin will survive every chapter. And yes, Sunny is a good brother, but if anyone tried to hug him, I think he would kill them. Several of us are going to coddle him, so you're welcome to join our funeral procession. LOL Oh well.. at least we'll go out in style. Who wants to live to 100 when you can get stepped on by a smexy car, _now_?

***Sequel to Side Bar but not necessary to read that chapter to understand***

**WARNING: DO NOT **drink or eat anything while reading. May cause bodily harm, choking, spit takes, or liquid coming out of nose. Author assumes no responsibility for these or related incidents. Warning is in place because she suffered the above mentioned side effects. Proceed with caution.

Well, I didn't reach my goal the last time, but since my reviewers have been so AWESOME, I decided to do a double post anyway. Screw the milestone. BUT, I DO expect a note for each chapter, even if its your favorite parts/lines. I wanna know what I'm doing right and if there is anything I missed or was unclear on. If you see something amiss, point it out! I promise I won't be mean.

**000000-OOOOO-IIIIIII-000000-OOOOOO-IIIIIII-00000-OOOOO**

Sunstreaker entered the quarters he shared with his twin and glanced around the cluttered room. The lack of glinting red armor alerted him that Sideswipe wasn't there. Which was a mixed blessing. Sunstreaker didn't want company at the moment, and the last he had seen his twin, Sideswipe was staggering down one of the many halls of the ARK, overcharged as usual. Sunstreaker shook his head. Why did his brother have to be such a lush? It was okay to drink and enjoy the buzzing of circuits once in awhile, but Sideswipe made it his life mission to overcharge himself at the least provocation.

And the provocation usually came in the form of Smokescreen, who loved to challenge Sideswipe to drinking games. Smokescreen was notorious for drinking a mech under the table, but Sideswipe never seemed to learn. He devised all manner of concoctions to 'remedy' his overcharge, but nothing had ever worked to date. He drank, he overcharged, he wandered the base and performed questionable deeds that had gotten him reprimanded on more than one occasion.

Prowl's best crash had been the direct result of Sideswipe composing a love declaration to a Decepticon in old Cybertronian prose. It was rather eloquent and spark felt, and had he spouted such words while sober, his love interest would have probably considered accepting the mech's proposals. As it was, Prowl had found the drunken frontliner at a terminal, slurring through his speech of unending love and devotion, using such phrases and fluid audible grace that had Prowl immediately suspicious. The SIC had stormed to the drunken warrior (caught off guard from the fumes coming from said mech), and had turned to see Megatron staring back. With a smirk, Megatron had accepted Sideswipe's oath of loving servitude and loyal devotion.

Prowl's crash was heard throughout the base. Megatron signed off laughing so hard, he snorted through his vents and there was a loud crashing noise that may have been him falling off his throne. Sideswipe seemed devastated until he saw Jazz, and started the whole fiasco over again.

Hoping for the best, Sunstreaker picked up the datapad on his berth and sat down, skimming the screen that was loaded with 'vacation' ideas. The twins were due some down time and Sideswipe had insisted on something they could do together. Sunstreaker wasn't fond of the idea, in many aspects, but he had agreed to glance over his brother's list. So far, nothing caught his interest.

Outdoor recreation centers were designed for humans, but not for robotic beings over 20 feet tall. Sunstreaker couldn't see the point in going to an amusement park, a water park, and a 'state fair'. There were no rides large enough to accommodate the Cybertronian form. They didn't ingest the food that clogged the humans fuel lines. The games were either too small for robotic hands or they were rigged to ensure one lost more than they gained.

Water parks were a worse idea. The chlorinated water got into sensitive joints and caused lock ups, squeaks, and if exposed for more than two hours, rust. Then there were the screaming children, the urinating population, and the conglomeration of oils and sunscreen that created a scum across the water surface. Not to mention the other biological secretions that permeated the water. Sunstreaker cringed at the idea of what humans release and there was no way in the Pit he was going to go bathing with one of them, let alone hundreds of them.

Which was why the beach was out as well. Not only was the water just as disgusting with aquatic vermin and their feces, but the sand loved to collect in joints and sensitive places that a mech finds very uncomfortable.

The bike rally was a bust. The idea of hundreds of two wheeled vehicles filling up a lot and revving their substandard engines was enough to send Sunstreaker into a laughing fit, if he ever felt inclined to do so. Not to mention that the humans who rode the bikes were notorious for either being "Weekend warriors" or "Die Hard Fanatics" and either way, the Lamborghini would be subjected to their bantering about which engine is best and trying to outperform each other. And these galas always ended up with several arrests because alcohol flowed in abundance. Sunstreaker didn't want another impound on his record. Prowl threatened to leave the twins there next time they were incarcerated by humans.

And the slagger had meant it.

Human ball games were out of the question. Sunstreaker didn't see the point in grown men running around after a ball or trying to hit one. There was no talent in that. Now, if the opposing team were allowed to _**shoot**_ the ball while in air, **that **would be interesting. And the only way to get Sunstreaker to attend a golf course was to promise him he was allowed to enlarge the holes and maybe bury a few human bodies in the sand. Or scream at the participants and ask them why they always take so slagging long.

Driving cross country wasn't too appealing.

Highways, traffic laws, other motorists, road construction. A good recipe to ensure Sunstreaker displayed violence.

Sideswipe's 'touring' with a famous rock band was also out of the question. Sunstreaker wouldn't be able to prevent himself from stepping on annoying humans who liked to scream into a microphone. And there were the strange amebas called 'groupies' that collected around musicians and brought down the general intelligence of the human race. As soon as any of those humans touched his paint, he would have to end them.

There was a mention of a 'haunted house' tour upstate that looked promising. Sunstreaker highlighted the details and read about the old lighthouses along the shore that were haunted by fated lovers or lost seamen looking for absolution. The tour ended at a hotel, where guests could 'solve' a mystery and earn prizes. Sunstreaker loved the idea of terrorizing the unsuspecting guests with a 'haunted' Lamborghini. And the twins still had the ghost getups from last year's Halloween party. They could don the long white sheets and prowl around the lighthouses and hotel, seeing who could garner the most screams of fear.

'**Ratchet to Sunstreaker,'** Ratchet said over comms, his voice sounding annoyed.

'**What?**' was Sunstreaker's succinct reply.

'**Please come to med bay and collect your brother,**' Ratchet answered.

'**Terminated?'** Sunstreaker asked, though he already knew the answer from the contented emotion filtering through his spark. Whatever Sideswipe was doing, he was happy and practically purring through the bond. It made Sunstreaker suspicious and sick at the same time.

'**Will be if you do not remove him,'** Ratchet sneered, his temper as volatile as Sunstreaker's own.

'**On my way,'** Sunstreaker sighed, putting the datapad on the side table and exiting the room. He hazard a guess as to what Sideswipe was doing. If he was in the med bay, projecting such 'positive' and 'happy' emotions, he was no doubt torturing Ratchet. Ratchet's own terse attitude was further proof.

Sunstreaker stalked to the medical wing, his steps ringing in agitation. Sometimes, he really hated his brother. Leave it to Sideswipe to pick the most inopportune times to pull one of his stunts and cause his twin even more processor aches. Sunstreaker just wanted to spend a quiet evening alone, without having his brother perform any of his usual idiocy. Expecting the worst, Sunstreaker prepared himself for the warzone he was about to enter, his arms flexing in preparation to ward off any flying instruments. Many times Sunstreaker had entered med bay and received an errant projectile right between the optics.

Sunstreaker closed his optics, steeling his resolve. The door opened and he stepped through. Two steps inside and Sunstreaker stopped short, his jaw going slack, his expression confused.

"Ratchet?" Sunstreaker asked, staring at the CMO who was standing in the middle of the room, looking very agitated.

"Sunstreaker,' Ratchet greeted through pursed lip plating, his frame tense as it swayed from Sideswipe's vehemence.

"What the slag is going on?" Sunstreaker asked, staring at his twin, who was currently hugging the CMO so tightly, their chest plates looked welded together. After a few seconds of close scrutiny, Sunstreaker realized they were moving. Well, Sideswipe was trying to take steps to the left and right and Ratchet was swaying with momentum but his pedes were rooted to the spot.

"Apparently we are _slow dancing_," Ratchet snarled, trying to wiggle free from Sideswipe, but the warrior only clutched him closer, his engine purring.

"What?" Sunstreaker asked. His processor just didn't possess the power to compute this.

"Sideswipe came in about ten minutes ago, said he needed to see me, and when I stepped close to scan him, he grabbed me," Ratchet explained, casting a dark look to Sideswipe, whose right hand started to drift down to Ratchet's aft. Ratchet smacked the drunken mech upside the helm, then grabbed his errant hand and replaced it on his waist. "And the slagger keeps putting the moves on me."

Sunstreaker was sure his processor locked up. And though it wasn't like him to express too extensive of emotions, he erupted in genuine laughter. His mirth was so intense he doubled over; clutching his midsection and feeling the tension leave his frame.

"It's not that slagging funny!" Ratchet snapped, taking a step back as Sideswipe used his distraction to get him to 'dance' to the music only the frontliner could hear.

"It's slagging hilarious!" Sunstreaker barked, smiling at Ratchet and causing the CMO to give a startled look. When Sunstreaker noticed his expression, he asked, "What's wrong?"

"It's just…." Ratchet sputtered, at a loss as to what he was witnessing. "I've never seen or heard you… laugh."

Sunstreaker composed himself, swallowing the random giggles that threatened to overcome him again. He stalked to the pair and held out his hand, "Sideswipe?"

"Busy,' Sideswipe said, nuzzling Ratchet, his sneaky hand drifting down the medics aft again.

Ratchet grabbed the errant hand and wrenched it up, using the appendage as a focal point and spinning Sideswipe toward his twin. "You take him!"

Sideswipe whined as his dance partner handed him off. He turned fuzzy optics to his new partner and let out a slurred welcome, wrapping his arms around his brother and asking him if he's seen a pretty white femme around. Ratchet growled oaths that would scare the Pit maker as he marched into his office and slammed the door.

Sunstreaker sighed, hoisting his twin against him and starting the trek toward their shared quarters. They were almost there when Sideswipe hiccupped and backfired, the sound resonating like a gunshot.

Red Alert's voice echoed over the comms, asking for an explanation. He was watching the twins on his security cameras. He always kept a tab on them when he was on monitor duty.

"Overcharge,' Sunstreaker growled in answer, tugging on his brother to get him to move.

Sideswipe snickered, grasping his brother and slurring, "Yoush shee a preffy femme?"

"No, they are all substandard," Sunstreaker deadpanned, dragging his brother down the hall.

Sideswipe seemed to have forgotten his train of thought. He frowned, allowing his brother to direct their path. When they were standing in front of their door, Sideswipe giggled and backfired again.

Sunstreaker opened his mouth to ask what was wrong with Sideswipe's distribution system, when Sideswipe giggled again and muttered, "Add..i…tives. Goods mix."

Sunstreaker frowned, wondering what his brother was talking about and hit the door lock. He maneuvered his brother to his berth, and as soon as Sideswipe sat down, he backfired again, only this time it resembled a choking motorcycle and Sideswipe erupted with more insane laughter.

"What is.." Sunstreaker started, then paused, something foul burning his olfactory sensor. He frowned, then took a long inhale, and immediately started coughing. "Holy slag! That's sulfur!"

"Only ones ingredziants," Sideswipe stage whispered, before falling backward in unconsciousness.

"Fragging great," Sunstreaker muttered, waving his hands around to dissipate the foul cloud that hovered around his brother's berth. "I hope you learn your lesson."

Sideswipe snored, oblivious to his brother's hateful glare.

Sunstreaker went to his own berth and plopped down, grabbing the datapad off the table and highlighting the screen to begin his vacation quest all over again. Two minutes later, Sideswipe expelled another noxious gaseous cloud that had Sunstreaker coughing and his optics watering.

"You slagging…" Sunstreaker said, glaring at his unconscious brother, but Sideswipe decided to release another loud, ripping backfire. Sunstreaker sputtered, his optics unable to focus as he staggered from his berth, his processor hell bent on enacting reinstitution.

An hour later, Sunstreaker received a comm. from Red Alert, asking why Sideswipe was snoring in the hall. He muttered a garbled explanation, to which Red Alert chalked up to the twins normal behavior. Sunstreaker fell back into a deep charge.

Red Alert regarded the slumbering ruby mech outside his quarters with a narrowed optic. He knew something was amiss. It always was when the twins were involved. He got his answer a few seconds later when Prowl turned the corner, and came to an abrupt stop like hitting an invisible wall. His door wings hitched high on his back as his face twisted in a pained grimace before going slack, and then he keeled over off his pedes.

**0000-OOOO-IIIIII-000000-OOOOO-IIIIIIII-0000000-OOOOOO**

Yes, Sideswipe was farting, but since Cybertronians don't have intestines or a colon, I had to give him an alternative. The mixture didn't go well with the high grade and the fumes coming from the chemicals cant be expelled the normal way by the distribution center. So the gas builds and is forced from his body as loud 'backfires'… and if you've ever been near a backfiring car, they DO sound like gunshots. Can you imagine the sound when high grade is involved? Wheeljack is probably remembering his childhood with the early, 'gentler' explosions.

Reviews will be loved. Anything you wish to drop a line about, even requests, I'm open to suggestions. No promises on when said request will be finished, but they WILL stay in the mix.

For those good reviewers, a new chapter will be up tomorrow… And I expect comments on **both** chapters, (holds brillo pad next to Sunstreaker's paint, causing him to hiss and spit, trying to get away) or the Lambo gets it! (Sunstreaker whimpers and pleads)


	28. A Sidelong Glance

**A Sidelong Glance**

**As Promised, ANOTHER UPDATE!**

AN: Be warned, I made Sideswipe a jackass in this chapter. He's suave, sexy, and a jerk. He likes to prey on those with low self esteem or worried over something that he can manipulate to his advantage. What can I say? He's a bastard.

But we love him.

Rated: T (suggestive adult themes)

**Cybela- **Glad you got a kick out of it. I just got the idea of Sideswipe getting drunk and wanting to grab a partner, and Ratchet just jumped into my mind. LOL Glad you liked it!

**Blitz-Krazi-1- **I'm glad I brightened up your day. And as far as I know, no one has done the "twin ghosts' but I would LOVE to see it if you decide to draw it. I hope you regained your breath, because this one may steal it again.

**Yoong- **Yeah, I nearly choked to death myself. Hence the warning. And I would love to see what Jazz did when Sideswipe started his proposal on him.

**Starfire201- **Thank you. Glad you enjoyed. Hope this one surprises you!

**Kimmie98- **Don't hold back a laugh, it'll turn into a fart! Well, I have a feeling Sunny could outrun you and beat you to Prime. Don't think you could snitch on him

**VaRa129- **Yes, you can join. We coddle smexy car, then get crushed by said smexy mech. Lol

**Lambor Terror Lep- **Yes, Sunstreaker is his brother's door mat at times.

**AD Axel- **Yeah, Ratchet loves the attention. Who wouldn't feel special with two hot Lamborghini's always self harming just for a visit? I can see Sides slow dancing.. Sunny… not so much. LOL

**StarLitDawn- **Thank you my dear! And yes, Poor Prowl. Poor sucker. LOL

**CRAZY little dragon- **Yeah, I can symptathize with Sunny to. And I had to put the warning up there because I cracked up when I reread what I wrote. I have the best ideas when i'm half asleep.

**SEZwho94- **Thank you! I think my fav part was Sides kept trying to cop a feel and Ratchet was getting mad at having the moves put on him. LOL That still cracks me up, no matter how many times I read it. Well, Prowl's BEST crash was the love sonnet to Megatron but when Prowl walked around the corner, he hit the 'fumes' and it knocked him out. It wasnt a processor crash. It was a full systems freeze. LOL

**0000-OOOOO-IIIII-0000—OOOOO-IIIII-0000000**

Disgraceful. That's what it was! A pure, lowdown, disgusting disgrace.

Sideswipe fumed as he exited the transport and spotted the first bar that spouted of having premium high grade. He stalked from the public transport service, still fuming about the audacity of having to take said transport to his current destination. Having been a regular at his local bars, both around his workplace and private apartment, he now had the public label of being an intoxicated menace and prohibited from visiting his favorite drinking establishments. Now he had the added insult of traveling several miles to another district, just to get a cube of decent high grade!

It was insufferable!

He pushed open the door and was hit by the ambience of the high grade dispensing facility. It was lit by pale illumination, like most bars, and littered with all manner of games and pleasurable entertainment. There were booths for private encounters, or one could pay for a room upstairs for more spirited interactions, with a partner or a group. Sideswipe planted himself at the bar, noting the stools in this place were of better quality, seeing how it didn't wobble when he planted his weight on it and the cushion actually felt plump and hearty against his angular aft. He smiled, settling himself on the comfortable seat and raised his hand, signaling for the barkeep's attention.

The barkeep nodded in affirmation and hurried along the line, serving drinks to his customers in prompt, orderly fashion. He was mostly black, blending into the dark atmosphere that inhabited a bar, with white and chrome accents.

Sideswipe held back a sigh, watching as the mech made his slow progress down the line, the other customers taking forever in placing their orders. There were two femmes who couldn't decide if they wanted their energon carbonated or not. He rolled his optics until they landed on the mech seated next to him, and instantly, Sideswipe perked up.

Yes, he had to travel a great distance to find a suitable tavern that would allow him on their property, but the new establishment also came with another added benefit. New people to meet and potentially berth.

Sideswipe had a rather extended list of conquests from his usual haunts. That was another reason he was 'escorted' from the last establishment and tossed to the curb. He had berthed the proprietors spark mate. In hindsight, Sideswipe should have asked the designation of his berth partner, but at the time, it just seemed so unimportant. If he was honest with himself, he was never one to learn designations before berthing them. Designations were for people who were interested in maintaining a relationship. Sideswipe just wanted to overload and go home, putting another dent in his lists of conquests.

Now, he had a whole new crop to comb through and find the best ones to take advantage. The small mech beside of him looked like a good a place to start as any. Sideswipe cast him a gaze, sizing him up without appearing to do so. He was slightly smaller than Sideswipe, mostly ruby red, and had blue and black accents that looked very striking on his frame. Though it was hard to gauge his true colors as he was coated in several layers of grime, grease, and dust associated with a hard working class frame.

The barkeep clicked at the red mech to gain his attention, and with a slight wave, the barkeep skipped the mech and turned his full attention onto Sideswipe.

"What can I get you?" he asked in a bored tone.

"Give me the strongest thing you have," Sideswipe said with a disarming smile. He noted the mech beside him still looked forlorn and nodded, "And one for my friend too."

The smaller mech didn't realize Sideswipe meant him until the barkeep planted a brilliant purple vial in front of him and set the top on fire. It burned an acidic green, causing the mech to gasp and push back from the bar.

"You have to extinguish it before you drink it," Sideswipe said, giving a quick puff of air across his own vial and downing it in one gulp. He smacked his lip components together a few times, giving an appreciative look before nodding, "I'll have another."

"I don't drink the heavy stuff," the mech said. His voice was meek and by the way he moved, Sideswipe guessed him to be rather flighty in nature.

"The heavy stuff is what keeps us grounded," Sideswipe said, saluting his new friend and downing another vial. "Drink up! I'm not doing these shots alone."

The mech gave a timid look to the still flaming vial, weighing his options. With a squeak that sounded like a small organic being trodden on, he grabbed the vial and blew across its surface before tossing it back. His whole frame shuddered, his hydraulics hissed, and a weird grating noise issued from the back of his throat as he fought against the urge to purge. The liquid was just as vile as he imagined.

Sideswipe gave an appreciative whistle, recognizing courage when he saw it. He clapped the smaller mech on the back, uncaring of the greasy transfer that smudged his hand.

"Now that was brave," Sideswipe praised, motioning for another round.

"I don't feel any braver," the mech said, and his voice somehow became even more diminutive.

"You just need a few more doses," Sideswipe said wisely, clinking glasses with the smaller mech and downing another dose of the high potency grade. He signaled for another round, earning a raised brow ridge from the barkeep, who moved to another dispenser to comply.

The mech wheezed, accepting a cloth from the barkeep to wipe his face as he sputtered on the burning liquid. He coughed, clearing his vents, his vision already starting to blur. When he regained his senses, he noted the discoloration on the cloth and proceeded to wipe down his arms, neck and chest as well, reveling a ruddy paint job that rivaled Sideswipe's own. Sideswipe ordered another round, and when it was delivered, the mech paused in his cleaning long enough to down it, shudder, cough, then toss the now thoroughly soiled cloth behind the bar.

"Still not brave," he muttered, sounding defeated. He slouched against his seat and drank the pale pink concoction in his square glass.

"What do you have to be brave for?" Sideswipe asked out of genuine curiosity. Whatever it was, it had to be bad to dispel the bravery that comes from the ultra refined grade that would land a seeker on their afterburners.

"I've decided to ask my girlfriend to spark bond with me," the mech said with panic in his voice. He turned wide blue optics to Sideswipe, every line screaming that if he heard a loud noise, he'd drop with a spark attack. "Am I crazy? Am I ready? Is _she_ ready? Oh, Primus, what if she says **no**? What if….?"

Sideswipe planted his hand across the mechs mouth to prevent him from rambling any further.

"You're getting yourself worked up in a spark seizure because you are afraid your girlfriend won't accept you?" Sideswipe asked, noting how the red mech trembled.

"What if she doesn't want me?" the mech squeaked from behind Sideswipe's hand before he removed it. He grabbed the flaming vial as soon as the barkeep set it down. Without blowing it out he gulped it, coughing as the flame sputtered in his throat before extinguishing.

It was Sideswipe's turn to be scared. His optics were wide as he watched the mech drink the burning shot, flames and all. He had never seen anyone do that before. No one was brave enough. Apparently this mech was feeling a lot braver than what he thought.

"How long have you been together?" Sideswipe asked, downing his own and feeling the burning effect scorch his throat before hitting his absorption relays with a fiery vengeance. Primus, it actually felt… good!

"Since we came online it seems," the mech said, now sounding proud and like a love struck mech who was marching to his doom. "I can't imagine what my life would be without her."

"Tell me about her," Sideswipe prompted, giving the signal for the lower grade stuff as the harder shots were taking longer to absorb. He ordered a rotational drink, alternating the charges and additives, ensuring a pleasant buzz and amicable suggestiveness.

For the next couple of hours the red mech talked about the love of his life. How they met, the soft melody of her voice, the music of her laughter, the tenderness of her touch when they were alone. She was studying to be an archivist, and she always carried the scent of ancient dust and burnt-out datapads. It was the sweetest aroma he could ever imagine.

Sideswipe sat and listened to the smaller mech pour his spark out, talking about rather intimate details of the femme he was enamored with, and all of her favorite things. Her favorite music, color, city, and the planets she wished to visit when she passed her apprenticeship.

"Wow," Sideswipe muttered, feeling overwhelmed with the strange red mech.

Sideswipe didn't know the femme the mech spoke about, but a part of him wished he knew her. He couldn't imagine knowing that much about someone and finding even the tiniest detail to be the most extraordinary thing about them. The love and devotion the two shared for one another was something of legend.

"And you worry that she will not accept you?" Sideswipe asked, feeling a warm tingling all over his frame, his processor buzzing with a constant drone. Or it could have been his interface equipment. Both sounded the same when they were engaging. And some of the most memorable interfaces he had involved a lot of high grade and a partner with lower tolerance. He smiled at his companion, finding the red hue to be a perfect match to his own highly polished frame.

Oh yes, this was definitely a great new place to enjoy oneself.

"What if I'm not good enough?" the small mech asked, his upper body swaying as he felt the ebb and flow of energy crashing over his frame. It felt fantastic! This new mech certainly knew how to brew the right drinks for a pleasant feeling.

"What exactly is your basis for worry?" Sideswipe asked, noting how bright his companion's optics was. "What are you afraid of being ranked so poorly?"

The mech mumbled but Sideswipe didn't catch the words. He was going to ask him to repeat himself, but then he noticed the molten hue along the mechs cheeks. It was easy to guess the topic that brought such discomfort.

Sideswipe leaned in, his forehead touching the mechs temple as he spoke into his audio. "Have you interfaced with her?"

"No," the red mech admitted. His venting hitched when he noticed the proximity of his drinking partner. He felt hot all over, and there was that Pit damned tingling dancing along his frame. There was also a strange little voice inside his processor, chanting a mantra to just let go and give in. He was trying to decipher on what he was to give in _to_, when he felt the other mech's lips along his cheek and couldn't stop the whine of longing that issued from his vocalizer.

"Why haven't you interfaced with her?" Sideswipe asked in a husky voice, low and sensuous. He felt a chill run up his own spine at the sound.

"We were never ready," the mech offered as a weak excuse. He felt that wonderful tingling take over his frame and making it itch, demanding to be released from the constricting prison. "And… and I… don't…. know…."

"Practice makes perfect," Sideswipe whispered, smiling when he noted the mech shiver at his words. Oh Primus, he was good. And he had every intention of adding this mech to his list. He liked them shy and inexperienced. He could get them to do anything.

With a shuddering breath the mech turned, sealing their lip components together. Sideswipe had to brace himself against the bar as the strength and voracity behind the kiss threatened to rob him of his senses. Primus, who was taking advantage of who? Sideswipe was barely coherent to guide the smaller mech toward one of the private booths and palm his credits for the billing before finding himself shoved against a cushioned berth, the door slamming shut and locking with a click.

Though the other mech was smaller, he easily subdued Sideswipe, but he gave in easily enough with the promise of what was to come. Both were well past the intoxicated stage and were running on pure instinct. Sideswipe wanted to overload and his partner wanted to gain experience while he still had the steel nerve from the fortifying drinks.

Fumbling, the smaller mech disengaged his transfer cable and opened his access port for a data transfer, but Sideswipe didn't think a data link would be satisfactory. He was hoping for something a little more intimate than a cable and port interaction. Taking initiative, he retracted his interface panel, his spike pressurizing in grand display, his valve already slicked with want. He rose to his pedes, grasping the mech's fumbling hands and pulled him against his chest, one hand clasping the trembling digits while the other slipped between the red mech's thighs, finding his interface panel to be scalding.

"I have a valve," Sideswipe whispered, pulling the mech on top of him without protest.

It took a couple of minutes, but once the obviously very inexperienced mech figured out how to engage his full interface array, his spike pressurized with a vengeance.

Sideswipe gasped, noting the mech may be smaller in stature, but he certainly had been well equipped at the factory. And blessedly, he was a fast learner. With stamina that rivaled the most experienced pleasure slave. Sideswipe lost track of how many times he overloaded, valve and spike being thoroughly exercised by the vigorous mech who once his initial shyness was overcome, turned out to be a dominating berth partner that fully satisfied in every aspect. Each overload robbed the couple of their high grade charge, slowly bringing them back to normal as they lay tangled in a mass of legs and arms, Sideswipe pinned to the berth by the mechs smaller weight and twitching with dual aftershocks. He wasn't going to be able to walk properly for some time, he just knew it. And he wasn't complaining. Primus, if this was the first sample of what this district had to offer, then Sideswipe was considering moving his business!

The duo fell into charge, their systems needing to recalibrate after such a vigorous physical exertion. Sideswipe was too sore to move the mech off of him, but he admitted the weight felt nice. The now dormant spike buried inside his valve was slumbering as peacefully as the red mech, who sighed in contentment as he charged.

When the duo awoke, the mech took one look at the mech below him, let out a bark of surprise and jumped from the berth, dislodging their intimate connection and earning a wince from Sideswipe.

"Primus, what happened?" he asked in a squeaky voice. His optics were wide, as he stared at the contented mech that was almost lost in the cushion.

Sideswipe was slow to pull himself upright, wincing at the tenderness in his valve and knowing it was definitely another momentous evening that involved high grade.

"You can't remember?" Sideswipe asked, his brow furrowed. Yes he liked to get them drunk and frag their processors out, but it was better when they actually _remembered_ the encounter!

"Yes… I mean, well as to … say.. uhmm… yes… yes, I remember," the mech stammered, looking away, his shyness back in full force.

Not one to mince words or waste time, Sideswipe gained his pedes, fighting back the urge to whimper at the soreness of his body, and gave the mech a beaming smile.

"You were worried that your femme wouldn't accept you," Sideswipe said, hoping to reassure the mech that had drove him with the force of an interstellar transport. When the smaller mech nodded, still refusing to make optic contact, Sideswipe added, "After experiencing the best overload of my life, I would say you are going to have one extremely happy femme that will be reluctant to leave your berth."

The smaller mech's head whipped around, staring at Sideswipe in shock that slowly turned into incredulous surprise. "Really?"

"I don't lie about overloading,' Sideswipe said in honesty. He pulled the red mech closer, stealing a kiss and adding, "Of course, this femme may have to share you with me because I don't know if I wish to give up someone who can induce such a processor blowing experience."

"My spark belongs to her," the mech said, pulling away and giving a firm smile. He was adamant. This was a one time occurrence. Though the offer did more for the mech's self esteem than having so many incredible overloads.

"Lucky femme,' Sideswipe smiled, accepting the mech's terms. With companionable silence the two wiped down their plating, Sideswipe trying to hide his pained grimace as his spike was reluctant to return to its housing. When the two were presentable, Sideswipe nodded to the door, gracing the other red mech with a wink.

"And be sure to warn your femme before you drive her into the berth." Sideswipe gave a charming, handsome grin and disappeared through the door, his companion slow to follow.

The mech burst into laughter, his face so dark with embarrassment it was almost ashen. He followed Sideswipe outside, where the pick up zones were located for inter-territory transports. Sideswipe looked at the departure listing and felt his spark flutter, realizing he didn't miss his ride back home. A flash of red beside of him signaled his new friend was waiting beside of him at the pick up zone.

"Thank you," the red mech said after a moment.

Sideswipe started and gave the coy mech a smile that could melt the steeliest of resolve. "It is I who should thank you. I have enjoyed the evening."

The smaller mech smiled in return, his voice now strong and adamant, "I'm going to ask her to bond with me."

"Really?" Sideswipe asked, a little surprised. He was hoping the mech would agree to meet him again. He wasn't expecting the mech to be so confident now in his decision.

"As soon as I see her," the mech said, and every inch exuded assurance and adoration toward the object of his affection.

"Lucky femme indeed," Sideswipe repeated, hearing the alarm call for the approaching transport.

The red mech nodded. "I am the lucky one." He glanced over his shoulder and grabbed Sideswipe's arm, spinning him around. "That's her!"

Sideswipe let out a whistle of appreciation. The femme was rather tiny, a minibot frame perhaps, with a dusting of pink and silver along her slender frame. She didn't sport a lot of curves, like Sideswipe usually preferred, but she had gentle planes and a delicate feature that left no doubt to her fair gender. Her head was bowed, her attention absorbed in a datapad in her hand.

"Wow," Sideswipe muttered, feeling rather warm. His spike gave a twitch, voting its approval.

"Hey mech, she's taken!" the smaller mech chastised, waggling a finger at Sideswipe.

Sideswipe held up his hands in a defensive manner. "Nothing to worry about. I know she's in good hands." He dropped his voice so no one could over hear and added, "And excellent parts that will leave her wanting more in your berth."

The mech blushed molten again, causing Sideswipe to laugh and step onto the awaiting transport. He smiled, watching the mech sputter, trying to recover from his embarrassment. Sideswipe waved, watching as the mech turned and sought his femme. Sideswipe smiled to himself, watching as her face lit up like a nova before she raced to his arms, embracing him with genuine love.

As the door slid closed, Sideswipe heard the mech speak.

"Ariel, there is something I want to ask you."

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Yes, I know I'm evil. Sideswipe seduced Prime! Ekkk! I really have NO IDEA where this came from!

Ideas? Thoughts? Con crit? Questions of what in the bloody hell I was thinking?

Reviews are loved!

**And I hit 200! Thank you so much! Now... let's try for 250! Unless ya'll wanna lynch me for this chapter. Apologies if its already been done to death. (hides but Sunny is standing nearby pointing at me)**


	29. A Brilliant Streak

**A Brilliant Streak**

**AN:** It has come to my attention that my notes are too long, so I will endeavor to send private messages via the site. To those who cant access theirs or have difficulty with the site (As I do all the time), I apologize for the inconvenience and hope you continue to stick with me. I don't wish to distract from the story and the notes are now taking a page or more to respond.

**Thank you so much** to all who review! It puts the biggest, goofiest grin on my face when I read reviews that people have taken the time to write and express their fav/disappointment/requests… it all means so much. And I grin like a clown on laughing gas from the reviewers that brighten my day.

**Love to you all!**

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"Explain to me HOW you got a cucumber stuck up your tailpipe," Ratchet demanded, trying to hold Sideswipe still with one hand while extracting the green vegetable with the other.

"The same way I ended up with a banana," Sunstreaker growled. "My dumb aft brother thought he'd try something he saw in a movie."

"Hey, it was funny!" Sideswipe said, trying to defend his soiled honor. "And I didn't know it'd get stuck!"

Ratchet grimaced, his extenders having a hard time getting a good hold on the mushy vegetable. "You thought you'd ram something up your tailpipes for a _**laugh**_?"

"Well, in the movie, it made the cop cars stall out," Sideswipe said, crying out when Ratchet's instruments raked along a tender spot. "Watch it, you witch doctor!"

Ratchet ignored the nickname and forced his pinchers in deeper, earning a painful outcry from the Lamborghini currently bowing on his tires.

"So, you tried to stall_ yourself_ out?" Ratchet asked, grimacing in satisfaction when he felt the offending obstacle give up its hold and start the slow retraction from its current location. Ratchet had often wondered about the sanity of the twins and here he had physical proof of their lacking mentality.

"Actually, this was a practice run,' Sideswipe admitted, wincing as the slimy vegetable finally exited his frame. "I was hoping to get Prowl when he least expects it."

Ratchet dropped the thoroughly ruined vegetable onto a tray and gave Sideswipe an incredulous look. "You were practicing so you can catch Prowl unaware and stall out _his_ engine?"

Sideswipe transformed, finally free of his unwanted installed part. He stretched, feeling a cool trickling sensation and hoped it wasn't any of the vegetables internals that was leaking from his frame. That would be gross.

"Well, its been awhile since I pulled a prank on him,' Sideswipe offered a lopsided grin. "I didn't want him to feel left out."

Ratchet gave a furious growl, smacking Sideswipe upside the helm with a new wrench. There was a deep clang as it struck, initiating it into its new, alternative job of patient rectification.

"You slagger! I should let you bake that thing in your tailpipes!" Ratchet fumed, adding another dose of iron into Sideswipe's physical diet.

Sideswipe fell against a berth, his equilibrium chips knocked haywire. He cringed when Ratchet advanced, but Sunstreaker interrupted what could have been an epic battle.

"Ratchet, get this banana out of my tailpipe," Sunstreaker deadpanned, rolling forward in haste to rid himself of the offending organic substance. Sunstreaker had been the first victim of Sideswipe's 'practice run'. Sunstreaker had transformed into his bipedal mode, forgetting about smashing the fruit, and proceeded to chase his twin to enact his own retaliation. He was disgusted when the eggplant wouldn't fit.

Though there was a good chance that Spike and Sparkplug were going to need a full reboot. They both locked up when the twins were initiating their food fight in the modified kitchen.

Now, transformed back into his alt mode and feeling very disgusting with banana fumes coming from his tailpipe, Sunstreaker just wanted a clean bill of health, and physical, before beating his twin senseless in the privacy of their own quarters without witnesses or medical intervention. Of course there was a high percentage that Ratchet would assist him into beating some sense into his twin. He hated organics and he most certainly didn't enjoy having them mashed in his circuits. It felt…. Gooey and gross.

Ratchet turned to his other patient and bent, extractor ready to remove the offending fruit. He held back his own disgust at smelling the offending odors wafting from Sunstreaker's back end. Ratchet's olfactory sensor was more highly attuned, and as a result, he 'smelled' things in a magnified way. He didn't like the smell of bananas to begin with. Add to the fact there was one that was literally baking in an overheating tailpipe, tinged with diesel and energon exhaust, and Ratchet thought he was going to purge.

A burnt peel was extracted from Sunstreaker, most of the banana's internals having been cooked and then smashed when he transformed. The cooked banana now lined the lower part of Sunstreaker's tailpipe.

"Sorry, Sunstreaker, but you're going to need a flush to extract the rest of the banana pulp," Ratchet said, knowing that no one liked having their systems flushed. Not only was it uncomfortable, but it was embarrassing.

"Sideswipe?" Sunstreaker called, keeping his voice even.

"Yeah?" Sideswipe answered, crawling up on a berth to keep from flying away from the wildly spinning room.

"Just so you know, I plan on killing you," Sunstreaker said, transforming and settling onto the berth beside his twin.

"Great," Sideswipe answered, holding his helm and groaning. Primus, Ratchet sure had a wicked aim.

Ratchet's words of retribution were interrupted when there was a great booming thunder. It started as a distant roar that steadily grew until the entire side of the med bay buckled, before blowing outward in a shower of rock and metal. Being near the back of the medical wing, Ratchet and the twins were out of the path of the destructive fireball that ripped through the mountainside. Had the med ward been full, or someone was stationed at the berths near the door, there was a good chance they would have been terminated. Alarms sounded, Red Alert's voice demanded everyone's exact location, and the whole fiasco was punctuated with Wheeljack's profuse apologies flooding the comm. link.

The sound of several mechs chattering in the comm. link brought Ratchet back to his senses. He pulled himself from the floor, rock falling from his frame, the dust already causing him to itch. He noted the two Lamborghinis were covered in dust, though being immobile on the berths had saved them from the shuddering blast.

"Ratchet?" Sideswipe called, coughing dust from his vents. His head still ached and the room spun, but it now resembled a merry go round in slow motion.

"I'm here," Ratchet answered, gaining his pedes and staggering to the two patients. "Either of you hurt?"

"No," Sunstreaker answered, his hands busy brushing his body to rid himself of the rock dust.

"Head pounds," Sideswipe said, grasping his helm and pressing along his temple.

"Residual echoes from the pressure blast," Ratchet explained, rubbing his own helm. He didn't like the dull roaring in his audios. "It shouldn't last long."

Ratchet grimaced against the onslaught of voices over the comms. He used his medical overrides to yell over the din.

'**Injuries. Report. Now!'** he said, earning a hushed quiet over the comms.

'**My audios hurt,'** three voices chimed in unison.

'**Mine too,'** another added.

'**Me too,'** came another affirmation.

'**My left shoulder has been damaged,'** Prowl stated, and his voice was hitched with emotion, causing all listening mechs to quiet. **'Bluestreak has sustained a partially melted doorwing.'**

Everyone listening on comms winced. They knew how sensitive the appendages were.

'**Put him into emergency stasis until I can get there,'** Ratchet instructed, glad he kept the majority of his medical tools on his person instead of in a carrying case.

'**Already done,'** Prowl said. **'ETA?'**

Ratchet looked out across what was once his medical wing and winced at the damage. The front doors were blocked by a pile of semi-melted berths and monitoring equipment. A monitor beeped in false readings as its diagnostics were being slowly melted, the liquid metal dripping in a macabre semblance of expiring life. The floor was charred black, little strips of fire burned in deep gouges caused by the fireball that ripped through. The bulkhead on either side was melted, the cooling metal cascading like a waterfall over the impromptu doors caused by the explosion. The support beams overhead groaned as their structural supports were weakened by the blast.

'**I'm currently imprisoned in the medical ward,'** Ratchet informed his comrades. **'The blast has taken out half of the medical facility, two structural support beams and several places are set alight. I'm stuck in here.'**

'**Extraction team to medical ward,'** Prime barked over the comms. **'Ratchet is top priority!'**

There was a shout of affirmation as the mechs jumped into action. No one objected to the change in priority. If they lost Ratchet, more than just audios and doorwings would be compromised. Ratchet's safety was paramount, his job ensuring that the others _survived_ their injuries. And the first thing the extraction team needed to do, was to create a clear path to their medical officer so he could find the injured and repair them.

Ratchet sent a visual account to the team of mechs assigned to his extraction. If they were going to find a way to get him safely, then they needed as much information as they could get. They relayed their route and estimated time to get Ratchet out. Ratchet confirmed and returned to the side of his two patients, who were glaring in open hostility toward one another. He would have started Sunstreaker's systems flush, but the equipment used in the procedure was now buried under molten slag.

'**What is your current location?'** Prime transmitted, assisting in removing the debris from outside the medical ward.

'**Lost in purgatory,'** Ratchet answered, looking around the confined area and seeing both twins exchange hateful glares. There was a fight brewing. Ratchet let out a long suffering sigh, and answered Prime's question. **'Isolation ward three with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.'**

'**Oh, that bad,'** Prime muttered, knowing that having two volatile mechs in an enclosed area wasn't good for the health of those around them. But then again, he forgot Ratchet's unusual method of keeping people under control. Medicinal iron was a sedative he employed often. 

'**It's okay. I've gotten used to it by now.'** Ratchet snorted, tossing two wrenches in perfect tandem, landing both with a satisfying _clank_s against two idiotic Lamborghini helms.

'**Really?'** Prime interjected, finding the whole situation amusing now that he realized Ratchet's stern punishment when dealing with idiocy. He had heard the clangs and assorted curses from his two victims.

'**Yeah.'** Ratchet smiled in that way that made him almost as deadly as Sideswipe. **'It just feels like another day at the office.'**

'**Well, if you need any help…'** Prime offered, though there was little he could do until the work crews were able to clear a path through the debris.

'**Wont be a problem. I have a map.'** Ratchet smirked, brandishing another wrench, though Prime couldn't see it. Sideswipe instantly stilled his vocalizer and turned away from his twin. Sunstreaker hissed and sneered, rankling his twin and earning a rude gesture in return. **'And Prime?'**

'**Yes?'**

'**Tell Wheeljack that his aft plates will not be needed when I beat him,'** Ratchet said, fully intent upon giving the crazy inventor a good old fashioned reprimand. Apparently the lectures and taps to the helm didn't work. It was time to try another approach. Something that Sparkplug liked to call "Blistering their ass".

And Ratchet was going to perform his own 'practice run' on two Lamborghinis.

**Oooo-0000-IIII-0000-OOOOO-0000-IIIIII-0000**

Reviews are loved and cherished. I don't know if I can keep up this constant pace of uploading, so if I go more than 2 days without a post, don't worry. I fully intend on continuing this story, its just difficult to write out unique plots and ideas that haven't been done to death. All while using the twins designations. Its getting more and more difficult, especially since I have other projects I wish to work on. I'm devoted to writing, I'm just pressed for time and lack the hours needed to give the proper attention to all the projects I'm working on.

Reviews DO help the muse.

Hey.. I rhymed!


	30. Pick Your Side

**Pick Your Side**

**An: As always, THANK YOU to all my reviewers and messages are in your inboxes. Sorry its taken so long, but there is a LOT of family drama going on right now and its extremely hectic. My focus isn't on writing at the moment. Please, bear with me and be assured, I wont abandon this fic. **

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Sunstreaker stared daggers at his captive. His fuel pump pounded in anger, his body positively vibrating. The mere thought of a Decepticon getting close enough to ruin his paint was sufficient to justify homicide. Add to the fact they were the sneering, condescending enemy, and Sunstreaker was, in the vernacular, 'ready to rumble.'

Of course with all the scratches, dents, dings, and scrapes already adorning his armor from his capture, there really wasn't much to defend. It was going to take at least a week to buff and polish back to his original, immaculate self. As if mocking him of the fact, a piece of armor fell off his shoulder and landed with a clatter on the floor at his feet. The noise didn't distract Sunstreaker, who continued his stare down with the Con.

"Looks like you're falling apart."

"Still look a lot better than you," Sunstreaker retorted, not intimidated in the least.

"You should mind your vocalizer, while you still have it."

"It would take a bigger mech than you to take it, Megatron," Sunstreaker goaded.

"We shall see," Megatron glared, deactivating the energy bars that separated him from his prey.

Sunstreaker took a step back, taking a defensive posture, his optics gleaming in delight. It had taken the combined forces of the Constructicons to wrangle the golden frontliner into the cell at the new base. And he secretly doubted Megatron's strength rivaled their efforts, a theory he was only too happy to test.

Half an hour later, the elite trine had to step into the cell to pry the combatants apart. Soundwave also joined in the retrieval, feeling it his place to intervene on his leader's behalf and send a powerful jolt of electricity through the golden menace. Sunstreaker collapsed with a yowl, his body shaking with aftershocks as Megatron was removed from the cell and the bars reactivated.

Megatron stumbled, pushing away his protectors and glared into the cell with one optic. The other was shattered by Sunstreaker's elbow, which had also left a beautiful streak of gold on the warlord's face. A poignant way to mark his victim with mocking vengeance. Megatron's left arm was hanging limp, the actuators and gears striped from Sunstreaker's overzealous twisting. His once pristine shroud of glittering white armor was now dented and scratched, the primer showing through in numerous places. Armor was bent out of shape and sparks occasionally danced from damaged circuits, but the warlord was still on his feet. Error messages filled his HUD, the red lines creating a tartan pattern, but he ignored them. They were irritating, but not life threatening. At least not immediately.

Sunstreaker was fairing no better, though his defiant attitude was hiding the worst of his injuries. One audio finial had been ripped free, leaving a sparking hole and rendering the frontliner deaf on that side. The trauma caused the remaining audio to overcompensate, a dull roaring now his constant compassion in the silence of the cell. His body twitched involuntarily, the electric shock it received from Soundwave having disrupted the natural flow of current in his body. The slagging glitch nearly stopped Sunstreaker's spark! Sunstreaker's left arm was now useless, thanks to Megatron digging his fingers under the plating and destroying the neural relays. Thankfully the area was deadened due to the damage, so the Lamborghini was saved from the stabbing pains that usually accompanied such injuries.

When Soundwave sent his electrical pulse, it was through the damaged arm, and having no where else to go, the current went straight to Sunstreaker's pedes and exited via his unprotected soles. Both pedes were charred black and a slip of smoke was slithering upwards to dissipate in the air.

The counterparts glared at each other, still willing to continue their disagreement, but unable to do so. Megatron emitted a brilliant shower of sparks, Soundwave's hold on his arm the only thing keeping him from toppling over. He departed, flanked by his faithful Third in Command, the seekers trailing behind, leaving Sunstreaker alone in his cell and to his thoughts.

Sunstreaker staggered backward and collided with the wall. He slid down the cool surface, his pedes unable to support his weight. He sat and stared dumbstruck into the hall, hearing a sparking sizzle from somewhere in his body. The damaged audios made it impossible to decipher where the noise originated. Flares of pain and stray error messages made his diagnostics a scrambled mess of gibberish. Footfalls registered in his damaged audios, but it was difficult to tell their distance and destination.

Sunstreaker tried to pull himself back on his pedes, just in case it was a Con, but his ankles gave a whining grind and refused to accept his full weight. Sunstreaker preferred to fight his battles on his feet, facing the enemy, but his now useless pedes made it impossible. Well, he refused to cower on his knees, but he could still put up a fight. There was a lot of damage a short opponent could inflict. He was down, but not out. If Megatron came back for round two, Sunstreaker had every intention of battling the smug warlord from his knees. If he was lucky, he'd be able to disable his opponent and level the playing field. He didn't like the idea of having Megatron towering over him as he was unable to stand on his own two pedes.

Sunstreaker grimaced, feeling a raw patch of metal beneath his fingers. It was going to take some time for his neural relays to be repaired, and when they came online, he'd be in a lot of pain. Then the fun task of reapplying his primer and paint. Sunstreaker's anger doubled, realizing a portion of his meticulous paint had peeled from his cheek. He doubted Megatron could have done the damage, and vowed to tear Soundwave a new orifice when he got the next chance.

It was one thing to disable a warrior with intent to kill or maim. It was another thing when they messed with a mech's good looks.

**No one** made Sunstreaker look ugly.

An hour passed, Sunstreaker enduring the double punishment of immobility and having his vanity threatened. He was calculating punishments when the door opened. Megatron was looking a little worse for wear, but still carried himself with a smug swagger. He was flanked by Soundwave and Starscream. The seeker looked bored, though his optics darted to the patches and welds adorning his leader's frame. Sunstreaker guessed the traitorous seeker was weighing his options on another attempt at gaining control of the Decepticon cause.

Soundwave was impassive as ever.

Sunstreaker wondered if the blue mech was cut from the same sheet metal as Prowl. Both were too quiet for their own good, rarely spoke, and displayed unreadable expressions. Emotions were meant to be displayed and Sunstreaker had no problem projecting his hatred and anger toward his visitors.

"Come to finish our conversation?" Sunstreaker asked, pretending to consider gaining his feet to face off in another confrontation. As if in afterthought, he returned to his lax position against the wall and merely settled on staring at his tormentors.

"Hardly," Megatron sneered, feeling safe with two Decepticons at his side. A small part wondered if bringing Starscream was a good idea. He could side with the enemy at the drop of a circuit.

Sunstreaker looked disappointed. He was secretly glad the warlord wasn't up for a second round. He didn't think he could withstand another attack himself. But he wasn't going to tell his favorite tyrant that.

"So, what do you want?" Sunstreaker asked with an annoyed arrogance that he learned from Mirage. "Tips on beautifying yourself? Sorry to disappoint, but I'm an artist, not a magician. You need more than my skill set."

Megatron looked furious. Starscream looked like he was straining to keep his amusement in check.

Oh yes, Mirage taught well, even if he didn't realize he was educating those around him.

"You weren't so jovial when I had you pinned to the wall and was trying to rip you apart," Megatron sneered, trying to regain control of the situation.

"That's what you were trying to do?" Sunstreaker looked mildly surprised, his lopsided features going lax in relief. "Primus, I thought you were trying to 'face me. What a relief!"

Megatron's angry snarl drowned out Starscream's escaping snort. The seeker looked momentarily abashed, afraid his leader would turn his ire on him, but vented in relief when the tyrant seemed intent on the golden captive.

"I should teach you some manners," Megatron growled, his fans starting to whirl in an effort to cool down his temper. Starscream took an involuntary step back. He knew what that signaled.

"Many have tried," Sunstreaker offered a one sided shrug, his optics glimmering with an evil light. "But with no success."

Megatron noticed the change in mood and switched tactics. "Why do you fight me?"

Sunstreaker pointed to the red symbol on his chest. "Kinda goes with the territory. Enemy and all that."

Megatron glared at the red sigil that seemed to mock him. He knew if he could turn just one Autobot, the loss would be devastating to his mortal enemy. If it was this yellow menace, he knew the ruby twin wouldn't be far behind. The twins were formidable, as his own body bore witness to the damage that _one_ of them could do. If they joined his side, the war could be over the next battle. Of course there was the slim chance they would side with Starscream and Megatron wouldn't _survive_their alliance.

"I have always wondered why you choose the weak side," Megatron baited, feeling satisfaction when he noted the rankled expression coming from his captive. "I've witnessed your skills. Your thirst for energon. Your abilities are squandered on the pacifistic Autobots. You should join my army. Here you will be treated as a true warrior. You'd get the respect you'd deserve."

Behind Megatron, Starscream rolled his optics, his arms crossing over his cockpit and an exasperated look on his face.

"I would give you the freedom Prime has denied you. The freedom to reach your potential, without fear of reprimand and unjust punishments." Megatron's oily voice saturated the room, making the cell seem even smaller and stifling.

Sunstreaker's frown softened, his gaze contemplative. He had hated the endless rules and regulations that tried to suffocate him since joining the Autobots. When everything got too much and he had to vent his frustrations, he was rewarded with confinement and duties, chores and scorn. No one seemed to understand his need for confrontation. The need to hone skills long learned from fighting to the death in order to survive. Those kinds of instincts didn't simply vanish.

At first, it had been hard, losing himself in the moment. His artistic side preventing him from formulating plans for easy termination of an opponent, but then, like all things, it changed. That feeling of abandon and powerful blood-lust soon turned into a monster, twisting and tormenting the gladiator into becoming something he would have been ashamed of in another life.

But his bloodlust had kept him alive, and in essence, his twin. If it hadn't been for Sideswipe, Sunstreaker could see himself as a Decepticon. In fact, Sunstreaker was considering the Con cause when Sideswipe announced his desire and enrollment in the Autobots.

Sunstreaker had argued violently with his twin but in the end, relented. Sideswipe's bloodied body was the physical reminder that brought reality crashing down on Sunstreaker. He could have killed his brother. Had he really lost so much of himself that he could do such a thing?

The answer had been a terrifying**yes****. **He had lost a sacred part of himself, and the Autobots were the only way his stained hands and dark spark could find redemption.

"Join me," Megatron said, his voice a grating whisper. His face was contorted in an enticing leer, his one optic giving him a demonic visage. "Fight for me. Reach your potential. Take your place in my ranks and bring terror to those that oppose you."

Sunstreaker face went blank, and for a split second he almost succumbed. Then Megatron whispered, his voice as seductive as a siren, luring one to their demise.

"Wear my symbol," Megatron added, knowing the look of a captured spark that dangled on tenderhooks. "Display my crest and fight for me."

Sunstreaker snapped out of his temporary daze at those words. A switch seemed to click. The proverbial lights came on, chasing away the shadows and the demons they housed.

"No, thanks. I'd rather fight** against **you than beside you," Sunstreaker sneered, his optics flashing to near white as his strength and defiance grew. "Besides, you symbol is stupid and it clashes with my paint."

Any further antagonizing from either side was halted as the building rocked on its foundations. Megatron's comms cackled to life, soldiers requesting orders and back up, reporting infiltration and injuries, all garbled and seeking their leader's presence. Megatron snarled at his captive before turning on his heel and wavering slightly from his still tender injuries. Soundwave wordlessly grabbed his arm and lead him from the prisoner, acting as both protective escort and makeshift crutch.

Starscream offered a strange look, one Sunstreaker couldn't identify, and took his leave to engage the incoming enemy.

Sunstreaker tried to regain his feet, not wanting anyone to find him sitting on his aft during a fight, but a screeching grind in both ankles halted his progress. He relaxed and his left ankle gave a loud pop before smoke coiled around the electrocuted appendage.

"Slagging figures," Sunstreaker mumbled, settling in to await rescue.

Half an hour later there was a knock at the door of the prison cell. It was a subtle knock, curtsey of his twin as the door flew off its hinges. Two red pile drivers entered before being followed by an extremely pissed off Sideswipe.

"Hey, Bro," Sunstreaker greeted.

"I'm telling you, I could have cracked that code," Jazz was saying, giving Sideswipe a cross look.

"My way was faster," Sideswipe replied, his pile drivers disappearing back into their normal configuration. "But you can work on the cell and get my brother out of there."

Jazz looked like he wanted to argue, but held his voice as he set to work on the control to Sunstreaker's cell. The Third in Command didn't appreciate being ordered around by the frontliner. Jazz was as easy going as they came, but he refused to have a subordinate dictate his actions.

Prime was the only one who could order the saboteur around. Prowl only** thought **he did.

"Took you long enough," Sunstreaker goaded.

"Want to extend your stay?" Sideswipe snapped in uncharacteristic fashion, noting Sunstreaker wasn't showing signs of leaving his confines.

Sunstreaker was going to offer an acerbic retort, but his right pede chose that moment to emit a feeble spark and fall off with a sickening, grinding squeak. Sunstreaker was glad his neural relays were dead, or else he would have been educating the others with extensive caustic euphemisms. Most of them originating from a sadistic CMO.

"What happened to you?" Sideswipe asked, finally taking in the damage to his twin.

"Megatron got fresh, Soundwave got jealous," Sunstreaker grinned up on seeing the energy bars vanish. Jazz stepped aside with a superior look, clearly expecting a comment on his abilities, but Sideswipe pushed past him.

Sideswipe stood towering over his brother, hands on hips, pissed expression still firmly entrenched on his face. "The things you get yourself into."

"On the bright side, I'm not bonded to either of them, so I can still enjoy being a bachelor," Sunstreaker grinned, using his good arm to try to maneuver himself into a standing position.

Sideswipe snorted and crouched by his brother's side, noting the discoloration and energon stains. Sunstreaker wasn't going to be moving of his own accord anytime soon. Ratchet would make sure of that. With a disgusted grunt, Sideswipe grabbed his brother's lost foot and dropped it on his lap before picking him up, bridal style.

"Aw, how sweet," Jazz grinned, knowing the comment rankled both frontliners if the double rude gesture from Sunstreaker was any indication. Sideswipe scowled, but let his brother's extended finger speak for him.

"Mind picking up the pieces?" Sideswipe asked with a sneer as he passed Jazz.

Jazz looked into the cell and found several pieces of golden armor and a couple of circuits. With a shake of his head he collected the lost pieces and placed them in his subspace for safe keeping. He turned, following the twins out of the cell block.

Much do the trio's surprise, they found Starscream in the hall. The twins were in front of Jazz, blocking his view and blinding him to their roadblock. Jazz sidestepped and let out a gasp, his gun in his hand and leveling at the winged enemy.

Starscream gave a sneer to the black and white Autobot, then to Sideswipe. He graced Sunstreaker with a half smile and barely noticeable nod before taking off down a side hall, leaving his mortal enemies free to escape.

"What the slag was that all about?" Jazz asked, watching the retreating form of the Air Commander.

"Something you want to tell me?" Sideswipe asked with a curious expression.

Sunstreaker thought back to his incarceration, recalling how Starscream recoiled with Megatron's voice. There was something about the way the seeker moved that piqued the Lamborghini's interest. When he spoke, it was slow and thoughtful. "Maybe there is something he wants, but doesn't know how to ask?"

"Maybe," Jazz muttered, motioning for Sideswipe to continue down the hall. "Screamer always has an ulterior motive."

"Maybe," Sunstreaker agreed, his processor buzzing with images of the seeker. He would have to keep his optics on the tri-colored seeker, for something was brewing, and Sunstreaker didn't like being caught unaware.

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**Yes, I'm giving Screamer a little more limelight. I have a couple more ideas that he may be involved in, so don't worry. There will be seekers cropping up from time to time. **

**This chapter was a little rushed, so if I missed something (spelling, grammar, loopholes), let me know. **

**Reviews would be welcomed and celebrated and could really bolster my spirits right now. **

**I'll try to get another chapter up soon. Thank you for your patience and wonderful reviews. They are loved and appreciated. **


	31. Frosted Sun

**Frosted Sun**

**AN: THANK YOU to all my reviewers. I appreciate all the wonderful words of support, wisdom, and encouragement. I've been under a LOT of stress lately and the muse hasn't been cooperating like she used to. I hope you all continue to stick with me. Your reviews are the only thing keeping this fic alive at the moment. Hopefully once things settle down, the muse will start talking again, and I can return to uploading every 2-3 days like I used to. Wish me luck! Love to all my wonderful reviewers!**

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The femme hissed, clutching a servo tightly in her own and huffing through her vents in pain. A servo petted her wings, offering consol as she suffered through the pangs of separation. When she recovered from the pain the trio made their way to the sparking center, their wings held aloft in parental pride.

Sunslide was the Alpha of their trine, having the heavier build with a fiery orange paint scheme and black accents. He was striking, physically and forcefully, which was obvious whenever he demonstrated his acrobatic prowess in the air. His Second, Splitstreak, was of a reddish orange with white highlighting his build and showing the sleekness of his frame. He was light, airy, and very maneuverable in the air. Their mate, a femme named Skyswept, was of a pale orange, her accents of flame red giving the impression of a dying ember. She was the femme of their trine, and she was expecting their first sparkling.

Trines were often paired when they were very young, certain personalities gravitating toward one another in a cosmic pull that couldn't be defined or understood. There were always two mechs to a femme in a trine. The reasoning behind it was that since femmes were the only ones who could conceive and create new sparks, they and their sparklings would be better guarded with the two sires and the mechs could offer a wider spectrum of coding when the sparklings came of age and could bond to their own trine units.

Sunslide, Splitstreak and Skyswept were newly upgraded adults. And like all adult frames, they were allowed to bond to solidify their trine. Skyswept had surprised both when she sparked during their first merge. It was a good sign. All seeker femmes were expected to spark at least twice, preferably at a young age, as an older spark had a more difficult time in sustaining another growing life.

Now, after carrying for what seemed to be an eternity, Skyswept was ready for the new spark to be born. She staggered with another twisting sensation in her chest, Sunslide wrapping his arms around her in support as she stumbled from the pain.

"Just a little further," Sunslide said, nodding to the white metal building that specialized in new spark birthing and supplemental care.

"Primus, no one mentioned how much this hurts," Skyswept said, feeling her two mates caress her wings in an attempt to ease her suffering.

"Just a little longer and we will have our first youngling," Splitstreak said, grinning at the thought of being a creator. Truthfully, neither mech was sure who had encoded their mate, and only after the sparkling started to develop its coloring and engrained basic coding, would they be able to tell. Course there was a slim chance that both mechs had contributed to the young one.

Skyswept nodded, allowing her mechs to guide her into the building. A medic took one look at them and ordered an emergency conveyance. Skyswept lay down on the plush berth with relief, her mates constant with their attention to her wings. She vented heavily, rubbing her chest, feeling the heat build as her spark prepared the youngling for separation.

"Birthing room two," the medic said, directing the portable berth to the appropriate room.

The berth navigated the hall and when it neared the designated room, the double doors opened and allowed the expectant family to enter. The sounds of distressed femmes greeted their audios as soon as they entered. The berth found a vacant station and turned, poising itself to assist the femme in parting with her new spark. The expectant parents looked at the room with trepidation as they noted the couples that lined both sides of the room. In the center were vacant youngling shells, ready to accept the life being brought into the world from the expectant femmes. The flyers noted with some disgust there were only a few seeker frame models in the displayed shells, as most femmes were of ground based origin. Seekers only made up a small percentage of the population, so consequently, their frames wouldn't be in large demand.

The medic followed the expectant femme, a scanner held at the ready and sweeping it over the femme's frame.

"Displaying strong electrical impulse and proper frequency distribution before separation," the medic said, nodding to the femme. "Open your spark chamber."

Skyswept complied, her chest splitting and the silver cylinder that housed her spark cracked open, revealing the brilliant gold of her spark.

"Fully mature with a strong pulse, and I can say for certain, you have a mech on the way," the medic said, looking to the two expectant fathers.

The two hugged each other in celebratory relief, hearing their young mech was strong and healthy. Skyswept wanted to sob in relief, but a pang against her spark casing caught in her throat.

"Just a little longer," the medic said, looking over his readings. "There is still some residual connection that will have to dissolve before the youngling can fully disengage and be ready to enter his new shell."

The femme nodded, rubbing along her plating to help ease the torment of a fussy sparkling.

The medic hooked a lead into the femme's arm, the berth registering her vitals and an alarm set up to announce the preparation for the new shell. A femme at the end of the hall barked in pain and her monitors went wild, signaling her final stage and readiness to expel her sparkling. The medic hurried down the line, leaving the three expectant creators alone. The mechs went to their femme's side, each taking a wing and caressing it with tender fingers.

"Your first?" a mech asked behind Sunslide.

The mechs turned to regard the mech who spoke and saw a brilliant red mech with bright blue optics and a charming, boyish grin. He was seated beside of a sunshine yellow femme, her hands caressing her open chest plates as she cooed to their youngling in encouragement.

"Yes," Sunslide confirmed, noting how similar the two expectant creators were built.

"Us too," the red mech said, smiling at his bond mate. He nodded to the couple on the opposite side. "This is their fourth."

Sunslide and Splitstreak gasped, watching as the minibot spiked his mate. The femme was poised on the berth, her chest plates opened above the display of empty shells. Her body jerked as her mate spiked her from behind, his optics closed as he relished the sensation of his mate about to spark their youngling.

"Minibots don't possess a strong enough spark to initiate the separation process," the red mech explained, his optics watching as the femme clutched at the berth, burying her face against the cushion as she felt her overload approaching. "They require a high energy discharge to separate sparklings, which is usually accomplished by a powerful overload."

The two winged mechs watched in fascination as the femme arched her back, her spark chamber flaring as the portable berth registered her vitals and moved her closer to the displayed shells so her sparkling could jump to a suitable frame. A couple of thrusts and her mate cried out as he overload, electricity crackling across their joined bodies and providing the extra charge needed to allow the sparkling to separate. A small, white orb disengaged from her spark chamber. With a high pitched buzz, it zoomed along the line of frames and settled on the small gray shell six frames away from the new creators.

The mech relaxed into unconsciousness, his duty now fulfilled to his mate and child. The femme cried out from the initial outburst, but the attending medic picked up her sparkling and carried it to the new creator. With a snuffling cry, the mini-femme cradled her child for the first time, hearing the first clicks of its life. A dark green tint was already forming along the younglings plating.

"Wow," Splitstreak sighed, watching as mother and baby were scanned by the medic and given a clean bill of health. When the father regained consciousness, they would be moved to another floor, where the youngling would receive its first programming upgrade and final systems check up before being released to its creators.

Skyswept gasped, rising off the berth a few inches and flexed her wings. Her mates were at her side in a spark beat, saying soothing words and rubbing the taunt appendages. Their neighbor watched the interaction with a smile, until his own mate gave a gasp and lurched forward.

"Just a little longer, Sideslip," he said, caressing her yellow frame.

"You do this to me again, and I'll rip your spike off," Sideslip said, earning a scared beep from her mate.

The noise distracted the trine, who listened to their bantering with amusement.

"But that's your favorite part!" he protested. "You only bonded with me because I came with the spike."

"I'll rip it off and have it mounted to a drone," she answered, her venting becoming harsh as the pain started to build. "I'll keep **it**, but get rid of **you**!"

The red mech laughed, his fingers twining with his mates. "You would never."

"No, but I **would** consider it," Sideslip commented, allowing her mate the gentle touch. She smiled, gazing into his bright optics. Her expression softened as she gazed into the optics of her mate. "I love you, Spinout."

"And I love you," Spinout answered, before crying out in pain when his mate clenched his fingers in her own and warped a couple of his joints.

The monitor on the berth beeped, signaling for a medic to attend the expecting femme. And just as Spinout and Sideslip prepared for the introduction of their new youngling, Skyswept bolted upright on the berth, her monitors signaling her own expecting parentage. Two medics raced along the line, the berths already in motion for the impending separation. The femmes were maneuvered onto their fronts, the berths splitting down the middle to allow the femme the ability to open her spark chamber and allow the little one to exit. Skyswept pressed her shoulder vents into the plush cushioning of the berth, her mates grasping her servos as she clawed in pain.

"At the same time?" Spinout shouted to the two winged mechs, who were helping their femme brace herself on the berth in the final stage.

They merely nodded, keeping their vigil over their mate. She clutched each of their servos in her own and leaned her chest against the modified berth. With their free hands the mechs rubbed soothing circles along her wings and massaged the delicate edges.

"We'll race you," Spinout declared, grabbing his mate's servo and watching the row of empty shells, wondering which one his sparkling would choose.

Sideslip barked in pain and grasp the edge of the cushioned berth. And like a tiny rocket, a white ball of energy erupted from her chest and immediately raced along the frames, searching for the casing to call home. Three shells away and the orb dropped into its new happy home, starting the systems for its first breath of life. The medic picked up the delicate bundle and placed it in Sideslip's arms, where she clicked in answer to her youngling's inquiry. Spinout stood, stunned, staring at his new creation. A wide goofy smile crossed his face plates before he fell back, unconscious on the floor.

"A lot of mechs do that," the medic said to ease Sideslip's worry.

Skyswept keened in pain, crushing the two mech servos she held, and with a flash of lightening, the white spark of their creation exploded from her chest. Sunslide and Splitstreak watched in open mouth wonder as their youngling came to life, hovering over the tiny frames as if deciding its best, suitable home. Much to the seeker's horror, the spark bypassed the aerial frames and kept cruising at a low altitude, examining each shell, looking for the perfect frame. When the miniature nova got to the end of the youngling frames, it stopped, its light going brighter then dimming.

The medics immediately jumped into action, knowing that the young spark was out of its casing for too long. The faltering illumination meant it was failing, unable to find a suitable spark casing. They tried to find an incubating containment box that could house the young spark until it could be placed, forcefully if necessary, into a suitable shell. As the medics neared, ready to capture the young spark and ensure its survival, the flaring white orb emitted a high pitched hum, its light reaching an aching level, causing everyone to shield themselves from the brightness. Then suddenly, the light went out and there was silence.

The medics were too late.

Skyswept emitted a garbled cry, staring at the blank place where her sparkling had disappeared. She lost it? After all she had been through, and the little one terminated? She didn't think she could bear it. Sobs tumbled from her lip components, her body shook in grief, and her two mates could offer no physical or emotional comfort to ease her tormented spark.

Spinout looked to the trine, his face grim. "I am sorry for your loss."

The fact hadn't had time to sink in when there was a weak chirp of an awakening youngling. The medics ventured to the assembled frames, their optics registering the burn pattern that accompanied bright light as it burnt it into ones vision. The new spark had given one last burst of light before fading into darkness. Silence reigned in the birthing room. Even the new sparks had hushed in reverence.

A medic stepped back, staring at the frames below where the spark had extinguished. The sound of faint clicking was heard, and much to everyone's astonishment, there were answering clicks. With shocked fear on their faces, two medics picked up two frames, cradling the small bodies against their own, their scanners active. Sure enough.

Twins.

The medics carried the two younglings to the trine and presented them with their family.

"I don't understand how it happened, but your sparkling has split, and now resides in these.._ two_… frames," the medic said, motioning for the parents to hold out their arms and accept their charges.

"Split?" Skyswept asked in a hushed tone.

"It's a miracle of Primus," the medic said, looking into the optics of the youngling and earning a soft click.

"Abomination," Skyswept whispered, giving her two younglings a look of pure loathing and shaking her head. She held up her hands, looking to her trine leader and saying, "They are unnatural. I do not want them."

Sunslide's brow plating was furrowed in thought. He regarded the two being held in the medics arms. He could feel the uncertainty and disgust flooding the bond from Skyswept, her thoughts on the matter clear. Splitstreak stepped up, scrutinizing the pair.

"They chose _ground_ frames?" Splitstreak asked, noting the lack of augmentations for growing winglets.

Sunslide glanced to his Second, gauging his reaction. Splitstreak looked to his trine leader, his face creased in aversion to the unnatural 'twins'.

"_Grounders_?" Splitstreak hissed in a low voice, his gaze boring into his trine leaders. "Not only have they defied the will of Primus and split into two sparks, but they chose to take _**ground**_ frames?"

Sunslide gave a slow nod. He understood the implications. Seekers sparked seekers. To have a youngling, or in this case, two younglings, to choose a ground mode over their sparking creators own alt mode, it was unheard of. Seekers did not choose ground frames. There must have been a mistake.

Sunslide turned to the two expecting medics, both of which cradled a curious, clicking sparkling in their arms.

"Remand them to the youngling center," Sunslide said, not wanting to even touch the young sparks of his possible creation.

"What?" the medics gasp in unison.

"Why would you do such a thing?" one asked, looking between the three reluctant parents.

"A spark is not meant to split," Sunslide said, giving both twins a look of fearful contempt. "They are unnatural. A defiance to the Will of Primus." He returned his gaze to the head medic and puffed his wings in a clear display of superiority. "And they have chosen _ground_ frames. I will not allow a ground frame to soil my name or the reputation of my trine. They're abnormality will not reflect ridicule on the trine, nor the seekers. They are to be remanded to a youngling center where they may grow up around other grounders."

Skyswept stood from the berth on shaky pedes, her optics locked on the deviant sparks that dared to split and inhabit ground frames, thus bringing shame and resentment to the trine.

"Do you not wish to hold your sparklings?" the medic asked, confused as to why a femme would regard a youngling with such contempt.

"I bore a single spark," Skyswept said evenly, her hard gaze drifting from the whimpering youngling held in the medic's arms. "My sparkling perished when he was ripped apart, allowing these two abnormal sparks to take frames. No, I do not wish to touch either of them."

"My decision stands," Sunslide said, motioning to the two now crying younglings. "They are to be taken away and raised as ground frames. They will not disgrace the lords of the sky."

"As you wish," the medic said, feeling his spark falter at the look the two sparklings were receiving from their creators. "Please, follow the medic in training to a recovery room, where you will be examined and then released."

The trine nodded, following a small femme out of the birthing room. Several couples watched them leave, their own young sparks still trying to gain entry into the world.

"What will we do with the two of you?" the medic asked the sparkling who cried in a series of clicks.

"Give them to me," Sideslip said, her own youngling tucked safely in at her side. She held out her arms, expecting the two extra sparklings.

Confused, yet elated, the two medics handed over the two new sparklings, who immediately cuddled closer to Sideslip's chassis. She hummed softly to them, her own child curling in closer to his two new siblings. The medics checked her vitals and stationed a medic in training nearby to escort the new family to a recovery room, once Spinout regained consciousness. Sideslip smiled at her two new charges, wondering what her bond mate was going to say when he realized he now had _two more_ sparklings to call his own.

As the two medics went to the next femme preparing to spark, one leaned over and whispered, "That was lucky. I hate sending such young sparks to the youth centers."

"Wasn't luck," the other medic smiled, helping to prop a femme up for the impending birth. "Did you notice the coloring of the twins?"

"No," the other replied, checking his monitor and finding the femme to be entering her final stage of delivery.

"They're frames were already starting to shift from the gray of their protoforms," the medic said, leaning back to catch the other medic's optics as they stood back to back. "One was a bright red, the other, a golden yellow."

The other medic smiled, glancing up to the new parents and seeing a surprised, bright red Spinout accept the news of his added sparklings. The golden yellow plating of his mate glittered in perfect tandem to his own, Sideslip doing an excellent job of holding all three sparklings. It was as if her frame was made for such added blessings.

"Those two are special, you mark my words," the medic said, watching as the family disappeared out of the ward and a new femme was brought in. "They are going to accomplish the impossible and they are going to do it in style."

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Well, as a change, I gave the twins a good home to grow up in and it also gave me a reason to focus on another aspect. Just twiddling with the idea that the twins prefer to jump the seekers and play with jet packs simply because, they have an ingrain instinct to do so. If their creators were seekers, it would stand to reason **why** they are so comfortable in the air and enjoy aerial acrobatics.

Reviews are loved and greatly appreciated.


	32. Ironside

IRONSIDE

Rating: K

Genre: G1

AN: I blame Bluestreak. This fic started out short, but then I realized, it needed some details to get the point across. I hope it doesn't disappoint. And I hope I don't offend with some literary leeway here. You'll see what I mean.

AN: This chapter is for Elita 2, who was the 250th reviewer! And I cant THANK YOU guys enough for all your wonderful reviews and encouragement. It means the world to me. I wish I could post more often, but with so much going on, my muse has been stalled. Hopefully things will settle down in a few weeks and I can get back to the craziness. This chapter is long and unedited, but I didn't want everyone to think I had forgotten them or the story.

LAST NOTE: HOLY FROZEN BAD GUYS! 260 reviews? Gosh! I never thought I'd get so many. Y'all make me blush and grin like an idiot. (points to an overcharged Sideswipe) Like that!

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"Order, order, this court is now in order," Bluestreak called.

"I want high grade brought by a hot femme wearing nothing but her protoform," Sideswipe called, his face alight with demonic glee. He actually thought his order was going to be placed.

"Quiet!" Prowl hissed at his side, giving the red menace a cross look.

"Hey, he was asking for my order," Sideswipe said, giving his companion a blank expression. "It's rude to not answer someone."

"The Honorable Prime is now presiding. All rise," Bluestreak said, keeping to script and looking to Prowl with nervous optics. He didn't want to flub his role, though it was only a mock trial. Sort of.

It all started when Spike moped around the ARK complaining of a homework assignment about the American court system. He could never remember the designations of the ones involved, other than the judge and jury, and the whole idea of prosecuting and defending addled his brain. He wasn't legally minded. Why his teacher insisted the class knew of the criminal justice system, Spike often wondered if she had any contact with the Decepticons. The confusion of the trial and keeping everything in order seemed to be something the Cons would do to confound their enemies. Be the best time to attack.

But as the youngster complained, in walked a bigger oral cavity that spouted just as much whining about justice and declared innocence. Prime had been listening to the human explain how he found the whole legal system confusing, a fact his father was proud of since his son wasn't a criminal, but Prime's attention drifted to the newcomers, his optics lighting up with brilliant thought.

Sideswipe was accused of gluing Ratchet's tools to the work bench. An allegation the Lamborghini was vehemently protesting in Prowl's face as the tactician continued with his duty assignment. Prime thought the 'crime' would serve a dual purpose of educating the young human and giving his soldiers a chance to immerse themselves in local culture.

And so the trial had been scheduled.

Prowl locked up when Prime assigned him as the _defense_ for the Lamborghini, reminding the black and white that all persons were 'innocent until proven guilty'. Prowl had returned to consciousness with a scowl that mirrored Sunstreaker's. Jazz was to be the prosecuting attorney. Ratchet, the accuser. Windcharger, Cliffjumper, Warpath, Ironhide, Blaster, Beachcomber, Tracks, Trailbreaker, Powerglide and Hound were the jury. Bluestreak and Smokescreen shared the duty of being bailiffs and dutifully guarding the judge. Their flared doorwings looked very impressive as they stood sentry. The judge of course was to be Prime, who originally balked at wearing the official regalia associated with judicial office. The other bots and humans settled in the gallery to watch the proceedings, curious as to who would win this battle of the wills. Smokescreen had a wager going on the outcome.

It was right before the trial that Prime learned that American courts didn't wear white old fashioned wigs. Prime threw the wig in a waste receptacle and pulled on his black robes, feeling bloated in the billowy fabric. He briefly wondered where Sideswipe found a white wig that would** fit** the Prime's regal head.

Prime stepped into the rec room turned courtroom, nodding to his two bailiffs and took his seat. Everyone else in attendance took their seats and waited with bated breathing function. Spike was sitting on Bumblebee's knee, getting a bird's eye view of the proceedings.

"The court is assembled today to hear the case of Ratchet versus Sideswipe," Prime announced, looking over a datapad that Bluestreak had handed to him upon sitting. "The charges are illegal entry into a restricted area, causing mischief, and potentially endangering the crew by tampering with medical equipment." He looked up to the grinning Lamborghini. "How do you plead?"

Sideswipe opened his mouth for a retort but Prowl put his hand over the Lamborghini's mouth, effectively cutting off his comeback. Sideswipe scowled over Prowl's hand, letting his optics speak for him. Sideswipe knew that Prowl was furious over his assignment, and he knew the Praxian didn't believe in his innocence. There was a chance that Prowl would **help** the prosecutor, just to get back at his biggest menace. However, Prowl surprised Sideswipe.

"We plead not guilty, your honor," Prowl recited, feeling acid rise in his tanks. He couldn't believe he was_** defending**_ Sideswipe! Was there no real justice in the galaxy?

"Very well, I ask the Prosecutor to call his first witness," Prime said, setting aside his datapad and lacing his fingers together in attentiveness.

Jazz rose and nodded, "I call Ratchet to the stand."

Ratchet rose from the table he shared with Jazz. As he passed by the defendants table, he offered a low growl at Sideswipe's cheeky smile. Ratchet stood on the left side of the judge, Smokescreen approaching and holding out a small black book.

"Raise your right hand and place your left on the book." When Ratchet did so, Smokescreen continued, "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you Primus?"

Ratchet nodded, "I swear."

"I swear all the time," Sideswipe adlibbed from the sidelines and earned a kick under the table from his attorney. He glared at Prowl's impassive face and added, "Ow! Not supposed to abuse your client, you know!"

Prowl ignored Sideswipe's hissing and focused on the task at hand. He may not believe his clients innocence, but he be slagged if he let Jazz beat him in a court room setting!

"On the day in question, did you see the defendant in the medical ward?" Jazz asked, leaning against the podium.

"Yes," Ratchet answered.

"What was the reason for his visit?" Jazz asked.

Prowl immediately stood and snapped, "Objection, your honor! Doctor Patient privilege covers the reason for my clients visit."

Prime nodded, "Objection sustained. Continue, Mr. Jazz."

Jazz gave Prowl a dirty look, and tried again. "Did the defendant come into the medical with a legitimate medical complaint?"

"Objection! Doctor Patient privilege protects my clients personal information regarding such matters," Prowl droned, earning a livid stare from Jazz.

"Sustained. Move away from that line of questioning, Councilor," Prime warned Jazz.

Jazz huffed, getting a dirty look from Ratchet because the medic really wanted to spout off a long list of false injuries in order to set up a prank. Ratchet and Jazz had spent the better part of a day going over testimony and facts, smug in the knowledge that they had the case in hand. They forgot what a stickler Prowl was for rules and memorization of regulation.

Jazz narrowed his optics, trying another approach. His own case revolved around Ratchet's testimony. Of course he had another witness up his armor, but he didn't want Prowl to know that.

"Without giving any specific details," Jazz said, giving Prowl a pointed look before returning his attention back to Ratchet, "Had the defendant ever entered the medical facility under false pretenses?"

"Objection," Prowl jumped up again, but Jazz cut across.

"Question reflects the defendants motives and past history," Jazz said, staring at Prime with wide optics, though his visor hid his expression.

"I'll allow it," Prime said, wanting to laugh at Jazz's sigh of relief and Prowl's huff of irritation.

"Yes, he has entered the medical facility many times with a phantom symptom," Ratchet said, glad they were able to get on track.

"And these preceded a prank?" Jazz prompted.

"Yes," Ratchet said, wanting so desperately to subspace a wrench and inflict his own brand of justice.

"Care to elaborate on the definition of a 'prank'?" Jazz asked.

Prowl snapped to his pedes so fast, Sideswipe wondered if he didn't have a spring in his aft. "Objection! Leading the witness!"

"Offering examples that are already on record for verification," Jazz said, going to his small desk and grabbing a datapad. "I entered this datapad as Exhibit A."

Prime took the offered datapad and touched the screen, highlighting the sections of interest. After a few seconds of scrutiny, Prime nodded to Jazz.

"Exhibit A has been received in evidence. Proceed," Prime said, wanting to scratch where the material from his robe was rubbing the transformation seams along his neck and arms. It was very itchy, whatever this material was. He was glad he didn't have to wear clothes like the humans. It was very annoying.

"Examples of previous behavior?" Jazz prompted.

"Feigned injuries that will go unmentioned for sake of confidentiality," Ratchet said, giving Prowl a triumphant look that had the doorwinger bristling. "But after said visitations, I have found my tools missing, rearranged, replaced with plastic replicas, covered in heavy lubricants making them impossible to grasp, and various parts missing from my supplies that were later found in the structure of pranks and other joke related materials."

Sideswipe offered a cheeky grin, waggling his brow plating at Ratchet. Which was the wrong thing to do.

"You aft!" Ratchet snarled, wrench in hand. He knew Sideswipe was guilty and though he wanted to assist the human boy in his education, this mock trial was a farce and it irritated his circuits to see his worst menace so nonchalant. "You're going to suffer!"

"Objection! Intimidating the defendant!" Prowl cried, springing to his pedes in that lightning quick way.

Sideswipe wondered what type of shocks the Datsun used. He may be switching brands.

"Sustained!" Prime barked, earning a burning look from Ratchet. "You will refrain from threatening anyone in my courtroom."

"Going a little far with this, aren't you?" Ratchet asked, knowing good and well that he had full medical authority to slag the whole lot of em.

Prime slammed his gavel on his desk, startling several bots. "I find you in contempt of court! One hundred dollars!"

Ratchet gave a quirked brow, knowing there was no way in the Pit he was going to be paying currency to anyone, regardless of the proper courtroom etiquette.

Jazz cleared his intakes, trying to regain control. He cleared his intakes three times before Prime and Ratchet broke their staring contest and returned their attention to him.

"So, there is a previous history of such childish behavior from the defendant?" Jazz prompted.

"Objection!" Prowl snapped.

"Oh, stuff it," Jazz snapped back, fully irritated. This courtroom thing was a lot harder than it looked on tv.

"Council will refrain from possible verbal attacks and stick to the case at hand," Prime said, really getting into the role. He tugged at his collar, scratching along his neck at the itchy material.

Jazz leaned one elbow on the podium and sighed in exasperation, "Has Sideswipe ever glued your instruments in any way shape or form?"

"Yes," Ratchet said, glaring at Prowl and daring him to object again. There was a wrench with the Praxian's name on it. "He has glued parts **onto** my tools, cut off pieces and glued them elsewhere, and has glued numerous patients to their berths." Ratchet turned to Prime with a sneer and added, "They are willing to testify to this account and the transgressions are logged in both their personal charts and in my main log. Feel free to use the information."

Prime nodded, having already skimmed through the long list of offended parties on the datapad.

"No further questions," Jazz said, taking his seat and giving a sullen look to Prowl as he stood.

Prowl straightened his posture, if possible, flaring his door wings as he stepped toward the podium. He opted to remain rigid instead of leaning.

"The day in question, what were you doing at the time of my clients visit?" Prowl asked, unimpressed by Ratchet's glare.

Ratchet mumbled something, looking disgruntled.

"I'm sorry, I did not hear. Please, speak up for the record," Prowl stated, earning a look that could melt his circuits. Thank Primus he was constructed of heavier alloys.

"I said I was repairing some equipment," Ratchet said, his tone dripping with acid.

"In what manner were you repairing?" Prowl asked.

"Wheeljack had broken the protective glass on a spanner and I was gluing on a shatterproof piece of plastic," Ratchet said, his arms crossing his chassis as he glared. He knew where this was leading.

"Have you used this glue on other occasions?"

"Yes."

"Have you replaced other broken items in such a fashion?"

"Yes. I don't have the resources to buy brand new."

"Please keep your answers limited to the question." Prowl chastised, unknowing getting a death sentence from the medic. There was a chance Prowl was going to be murdered that night. "The epoxy you allege my client used to glue your instruments to the table, is it the same compound used to fix damaged instruments in the medical facility?"

"Yes," Ratchet grumbled, his engine rumbling in anger.

"Did you see my client around the instruments and glue in question?"

"No, but he's a sneaky fragger." Ratchet gave Sideswipe a look of pure loathing, to which the red warrior just smiled and drank in the attention.

"Objection. Personal opinion." Prowl said, looking to Prime who was rubbing his collar.

"Sustained. Jury will disregard the statement," Prime said.

Sideswipe looked crestfallen. He knew he was a sneaky fragger. Everyone knew it. It was more fact than opinion. He felt hurt by Prime's dismissal.

"Did my client have any residue on his person associated with glue or other binding agents?" Prowl asked.

"I didn't check," Ratchet admitted, feeling thoroughly put out.

"So admittedly you accused my client of sabotaging your instruments though you did not see him near them and did not see any evidence on his person to validate such a claim," Prowl reiterated.

"I may have not have caught him with his sticky fingers in the energon cookies, but he sure as slag committed the crime," Ratchet said in his stern way that made bots rattling their plating in fear.

Prowl was immune. "Objection, Your Honor."

"Sustained. Jury will disregard," Prime said.

"Is it possible you had misplaced your epoxy and however inadvertently, glued your own tools to the workbench?" Prowl asked

"No. I'm very careful with both my tools and the glue," Ratchet said. "I don't make mistakes."

"So, you are infallible?" Prowl asked.

"No, I'm not saying that," Ratchet huffed angrily through his vents. Oh, he was going to show Prowl a thing or two about glues when the tactician needed his medical expertise.

"You claim that you don't make mistakes, but that is a false statement," Prowl said in his infuriating way that made bots want to throttle him. "You are capable of making mistakes just like anyone. Are you not?"

"I… well, I mean, everyone can _make_ a mistake," Ratchet sputtered, but Prowl interrupted.

"No more questions," Prowl said, taking his seat.

"Witness is excused," Prime said to Ratchet.

Ratchet huffed and stalked back to his seat beside of Jazz. They were barely within hissing distance when Ratchet started to seethe at his representative.

"Call your next witness," Prime ordered.

"I call Mirage to the stand," Jazz said, shushing Ratchet.

Mirage ventured out of the audience and took the stand. Smokescreen came forth, holding the small black book and recited, "Raise your right hand and place your left on the book." When Mirage had complied, though looking in his simpering, haughty way, Smokescreen continued, "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you Primus?"

"On my honor," Mirage said in his cultured tone.

"Very well, be seated," Smokescreen said, returning to his post and flaring his door wings. He was really getting into the spirit of the trial.

Mirage took his seat and watched Jazz saunter to the podium.

"On the day in question did you witness the defendant exiting the medical ward?" Jazz asked.

"Yes." Mirage answered, not bothering to look at the front liner. Sideswipe and his type of people didn't mingle well with the crowd that Mirage was used to. He had little use of the warrior.

"Did the defendant display any physical attributes associated with an injury or illness?" Jazz asked, canting his head in Prowl's direction.

But Prowl remained impassive, just watching with a neutral expression.

"No," Mirage said. "But I am not a medic and was not present during the time of possible treatment."

Jazz smiled, knowing he picked the right witness. "What would you describe as his state of being?"

Sideswipe looked to Prowl, hoping for some sort of response, but the tactician simply sat and stared at the witness. Sideswipe waved his hand in front of Prowl's face, thinking he had locked up. A little kick under the table was his reprimand.

"He was in a good mood," Mirage said.

"Care to elaborate?" Jazz asked.

"As he exited the medical ward he was smiling and rubbing his servos together." Mirage clasped his hands and rolled them around like a movie villain crowing over the hero. He adopted a devilish look that made Sideswipe perk up, noting the Noble looked rather handsome when he was imitating a Lamborghini.

"That was the expression you witnessed outside of the medical ward?" Jazz reiterated for the benefit of the jury.

"Yes."

"Not a look of pain or worry or even anger?" Jazz asked.

"No. He seemed to be in high spirits," Mirage intoned, chancing a glance to the defendant's table and offering his customary Tower sneer.

Jazz switched up tactics, hoping to throw Prowl off. The silent monochromatic wraith at the opposite table was starting to unnerve him. He didn't understand why Prowl had yet to speak. He had been quite verbal when Ratchet was on the stand.

"Being a member of Special Ops and having extensive training in observation and behavior," Jazz said, letting the jury and his quarry know the witness's level of reliance, "How would you describe the defendant's actions?"

"The way he rubbed his hands together is indicative of one trying to remove something offensive from their person." Mirage gave another look, this time directed toward Prowl, as if daring the Praxian to argue against his credentials.

Sideswipe looked again to Prowl, waiting to hear his favorite expression and do his impression of a loaded spring. But Prowl remained stationary, just staring blankly at the witness.

"Did you see any evidence on the defendant? Like glue or any part of his armor that was tacky where glue may have spilled unnoticed?" Jazz asked, hoping to beat Prowl to the punch.

Mirage gave a slight nod as he answered, "Other than the curious way he wiped at his servos, no I did not see any spilled glue or anything stuck to his person."

"What happened next?" Jazz prompted, getting a little worried about Prowl's silence.

"Out of curiosity I followed Sideswipe to the wash racks, where he immediately washed his servos before stepping into the shower," Mirage explained. "Five minutes later, I heard Ratchet yelling about his tools being glued to the table and shouting for Sideswipe."

Sideswipe looked to Prowl and found him as impassive as ever. Sideswipe jumped to his feet, pointing at Prowl and yelled, "Objection your honor! My attorney died five minutes ago!"

"Sit down, Idiot," Prowl said, grasping the ruby warrior by the wrist and yanking him down hard onto his seat.

Sideswipe's aft made a loud ringing noise as he landed. It took him a few seconds to collect his wits. He turned to Prowl, face expectant.

"Do something! You're just sitting there!" Sideswipe hissed.

"Sit down, shut up, and allow me to do my job," Prowl said in a serious tone, his optics blazing.

Sideswipe deflated. He gave a sullen glare to the witness stand, then to Prime, then a curled sneer to Jazz, who was regarding their table with a laughable expression. Sideswipe flipped him off.

"One more outburst and I'll find you in contempt," Prime said, giving Sideswipe a look that made the front liner wither.

"**This** is contemptible," Sideswipe muttered under his breath.

"No more questions, Your Honor," Jazz said, going back to his seat with a triumphant flippancy.

"Very well, your witness, Mr. Prowl," Prime said, rubbing his arms.

Prowl gave a look of annoyance at the title, but remembered this was a learning experience for the teenage human and the Cybertronians. Prowl took the podium and ignored the superior look sent his way by the Tower mech.

"On the day in question, did you follow the defendant to the washracks in visual form or while cloaked?" Prowl asked.

"Cloaked," Mirage said, giving Prowl a disconcerting look.

"You are aware of section eighty-seven dash fourteen subsection alpha?" Prowl asked, knowing the Noble was full aware of the stated regulation. He had been chastised with it since his enlistment. When Mirage remained tight lipped, Prowl elaborated, "To refresh your memory, it states that no Autobot may use their abilities or weapons against another Autobot and that all specialty equipment must be offlined or removed from your person to prevent accidental damage to the owner and any possible innocent bystanders."

Mirage gave a gruff grunt. Usually his electro-disruptor was off, the power cells draining a lot of energy that needed to be conserved when not in a battle field condition. While on base, there was no need to sneak in and out of places unseen. It was a place of safety and security and those on base were considered brothers in arms, allies to the cause, and therefore, should be treated with respect. Not to mention, sneaking around cloaked was just plain rude. Everyone was entitled to their privacy. It was uncouth to follow a bot and watch them during their private down time. It was also very creepy.

"Your Honor, due to the illegal way this witness obtained his information, I ask that his testimony be struck from the record," Prowl said, turning to Prime and giving him that annoying superiority look that grated on the twins' nerves.

"Due to his training in special ops and the fact that the witness did not cause harm to a person or to any sensitive equipment, I will allow his testimony," Prime said, enjoying the way Prowl ruffled at his words.

Prowl puffed his door wings, his frame rigid. He wasn't a happy Praxian. Being the consummate professional, albeit a mock trial, Prowl cleared his vocalizer and continued his line of questioning.

"Aside from your flagrant disregard to rules and the illegality of your actions, you stated you witnessed the defendant leaving the medical ward and proceeded to follow him to the washracks, where you witnessed him performing personal maintenance," Prowl recited, earning a twisted sneer from Sideswipe. Prime rolled his optics. Mirage looked very uncomfortable. He didn't like being reprimanded. Especially by someone who wasn't of high birth. "Is this correct?"

Mirage pursed his lip plating so tight, his oral cavity nearly collapsed in on itself. "Yes."

"And you have been reprimanded many times for performing the same illegal recognizance on your fellow Autobots. Is that correct?" Prowl prompted.

"Objection!" Jazz said, finally able to use Prowl's favorite word against him. "Badgering the witness! Mirage is not on trial here."

"Stating facts in evidence and pertaining to the witnesses creditability," Prowl said.

Prime gave a slow nod in thought. "I'll allow it, but watch yourself, Mr. Prowl."

Prowl nodded in understanding before returning his attention back to Mirage. "So while performing an unauthorized observation, and using your cloaking ability against regulation, you witnessed the defendant wiping his hands?"

"Yes," Mirage said, not liking the look Prowl was giving him.

"The medical facility is full of fluids and contaminants. Could it be that the defendant had accidentally placed his hand in lubricant or some other viscous fluid and was trying to remove it from his person?" Prowl asked, hearing the low groan from Sideswipe. Apparently the front liner thought his attorney was trying to **help** the prosecution.

"It's possible," Mirage said, optics narrowing.

"And as you followed your fellow Autobot to the wash racks," Mirage bristled at the implication but Prowl continued on nonetheless, "You witnessed him wash not only his hands, but his frame as well?"

"Yes," Mirage admitted, earning another sour look from Sideswipe.

"With your extensive training and knowledge," Prowl said, throwing Mirage's credentials back at him. "Is that indicative of a mech who has handled glue or any other sticky substance?"

"No," Mirage admitted. "Unless he rolled in the glue, there would be no reason why he would need to wash his frame if he only handled the glue with his hands."

"Logically speaking, he was merely bathing to remove unpleasant soil from his person?" Prowl said, trying to clarify the situation.

"Yes," Mirage said in a tone that meant he'd given up. He gave Jazz a disgusted look, which was returned.

"No further questions," Prowl said, retaking his seat.

"You're excused," Prime said, nodding for Mirage to vacate the witness stand. The Noble did so with grace and dignity, though Sideswipe and a couple other mechs gave him incredulous and disgusted looks. "Call your next witness."

"The prosecution rests," Jazz said with an acidic bite.

"Very well. Defense may call their first witness," Prime said, giving Prowl the go ahead.

"I call Sunstreaker to the stand," Prowl said, earning several startled looks. Sideswipe even gasp, sitting back down in his seat with a stunned expression turned toward his counsel.

Sunstreaker frowned but left the audience, going to the witness stand and adopting the same pose as everyone else. When Smokescreen approached, he scowled, thinking the Autobot forces had gone mad to entertain such a stupid form of justice. Everyone knew you should just slag anyone who offends you and their corpse served as a warning to others who tried to cross you. It was basic justice, understood throughout the galaxy.

Smokescreen settled the black book he carried onto the stand and pulled out another, slightly smaller book. He knew Sunstreaker didn't hold to any religion, let alone a religion from an alien planet, so the normal swearing in of the witness wouldn't work on him. He could still lie through his grill and not bat and optic. So Smokescreen had devised an alternative for the vain, hardened mech.

"Left hand on the book and raise your right," Smokescreen said presenting the small book to the golden twin.

Sunstreaker went to spout his empty promise when he halted, his servo hovering over the offered book. It was an owner's manual for a Lamborghini. Tentatively he placed his servo on the book and looked to Smokescreen, who had a triumphant look on his face.

"Do you swear on your tech specs, to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help your alt mode?" Smokescreen asked, augmenting the phrase to fit the problematic mech.

"I…. do?" Sunstreaker said, unsure how he was supposed to answer.

"You share a link with your twin that allows you to share emotion and feelings?" Prowl asked, keeping his expression calm, though a door wing twitched. Smokescreen caught the subtle flutter and gave the tactician a quirky grin, which instantly stilled the speaking appendage.

"Yes." Sunstreaker said flatly. Why Prowl chose to drag him into this mess, he'd never know. But the annoying Praxian may get slagged next time on the battle field, and not by the enemy.

The link was common knowledge but Prowl wanted to establish a baseline for his questioning.

"When one senses something, the other senses it as well?" Prowl prompted.

"Yes."

"On the day in questions, did you sense anything from your twin?"

"Like what?"

"Any happiness or giddiness?" Prowl asked, wishing to convey Sideswipe's rather transparent emotional displays.

"He always feels that. I think it's an infection."

"Any particular sensation due to a prank?" Prowl asked, trying to keep Sunstreaker focused on the trial. He noted the golden mech was staring to shift uncomfortably.

"Like what?" Sunstreaker responded, not sure what the black and white officer was fishing for.

"Like, achievement and elation for a prank well executed?"

"No."

"Joy or mischievous sensation associated with pulling a prank?"

"No."

"And these sensations are present when your twin is playing a joke?" Prowl asked.

"Every time," Sunstreaker admitted, getting a dangerous look from his twin.

"Did you brother share with you any details regarding his visit?"

"No."

"Would he?"

"If there was a joke involved, more than likely." Sunstreaker said, getting tired of the questions. Not to mention there was a dark thrumming through the bond he shared with said twin. Apparently Sideswipe was rather unhappy at the moment.

"He has shared information with you regarding pranks in the past?"

"Some details, yes."

"Bragging?"

"Always."

"Did he brag during this incident?"

"No."

"Your connection gives you a unique insight?"

"Obviously." Sunstreaker now looked annoyed, bordering on angered.

"No more questions." Prowl said, retaking his seat.

Jazz stepped forward, giving Sunstreaker a dubious look. "You can feel your brother's emotions all the time?"

"No."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No."

"Answer the questions or I'll find you in contempt." Prime said, knowing Sunstreaker's reputation. The front liner was notorious for flippant disregard and annoyance with rules and proper regulation.

Sunstreaker offered a raised brow and sneered, "You want to educate **me** on contempt?"

Jazz cleared his voice, interrupting what could have been an epic battle. "Is your twin able to block his emotions from you?"

"Yes."

"So you can't always know his state of mind? Because he blocks off his part of the bond?"

"Yes"

"Is it possible he blocked off his side of the bond while participating in a prank which lead to Ratchet's tools being glued to the workbench?" Jazz asked.

"Yes," Sunstreaker said, and added with a bored, frustrated sigh, "Anything is possible with my brother."

"No further questions." Jazz said, returning to his seat and giving Prowl a superior look which the other council ignored.

Sunstreaker left the witness stand and gave Jazz a contemptuous look that the mech brushed off as being Sunstreaker's usual self. He really didn't like being around others. The only reason he was suffering through the indignity of staying in the make shift courtroom was to support his twin. Though Sideswipe's look of retribution was doing little to calm Sunstreaker's demeanor. There was a chance a fight was going to break out later.

"I call Sideswipe to the stand," Prowl said.

Sideswipe practically raced to the stand, his servos poised before Smokescreen gained his side.

Smokescreen held out the same owners manual and repeated, "Do you swear on your tech specs to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help your alt mode?"

"Yes," Sideswipe said, taking a seat and beaming in child like giddiness. He was having way too much fun. He planned on suggesting these little mock scenarios on a regular basis. And he was going to suggest Sunstreaker be a witness to all of them!

"On the day in question, did you visit the medical ward?" Prowl asked.

"Objection, that doctor patient thing!" Jazz shouted, jumping from his seat.

"Just confirming a visitation, not for personal information." Prowl said, a door wing twitching.

"Sustained, Go ahead." Prime said, nodding toward Prowl.

"Yes," Sideswipe confirmed.

"Did you go to the medical ward with the intention of pulling a prank?"

"No. My visit was because Earth's terrain is inhospitable to sporty vehicles and I needed Ratchet to check to see if there was any damage from a recent patrol."

"Objection!" Jazz said.

"I'm volunteering the information," Sideswipe said.

"I'll allow it," Prime said, rubbing the fabric against his metal skin.

"Did you see Ratchet?"

"No," Sideswipe answered, going so far as to give the medic a sad look. "I heard him shouting and didn't think it was wise to bother him."

"Shouting?" Prowl asked.

"Yeah, he was yelling about Wheeljack breaking something and how ungrateful the Autobots are and how he should let all of us rust," Sideswipe said, giving Ratchet a look that was returned, ten fold. Ratchet always ranted. It was his second job on the ARK. "I didn't want to bother him, so I left."

"Why did you leave?" Prowl prompted, hoping to convey the innocent visit. He really wanted to win this case. Even if he didn't like his client in the least.

"We all know what Ratchet's like when he's in one of his moods," Sideswipe said, and there was a general murmur amongst the crowd. Even the jurors were nodding in agreement. "So I left, hoping to wash off whatever was rubbing my circuits the wrong way."

"You had something on your servos?" Prowl said, wanting his client to get to specifics. It was all about cold hard facts.

"Yeah. _Gunky_," Sideswipe curled his olfactory sensor and added, "Then I realized I had the gunky stuff all over me. Well, you know what its like when you have something nasty in your undercarriage. So I went to the racks and scrubbed down." He gave a contemptuous look toward Mirage, "I didn't know I was being watched."

"And did you molest any medical instrument while in the infirmary?" Prowl asked.

"Nope," Sideswipe said. "I went in, heard Ratchet yelling, looked at my filthy chassis, which was covered in grime because some forgetful bot scheduled a _Lamborghini _to take the Ocean View Drive patrol and the sand, silt, salty air, and the sludge-like muck that habitually covers that road got into my systems and made me feel like a true ground crawler."

Prowl ignored the slight against him. He had schedule Sideswipe on that route as a punishment. He knew how rough and disgusting that terrain could become. He hoped to teach the mouthy front liner a lesson. Apparently it didn't sink in.

"And when Ratchet discovered the tools glued to the work bench, where were you?" Prowl asked.

Sideswipe nodded toward the audience. "In the shower with Mirage."

Several snickers broke out along the audience, causing Mirage's face plates to darken in embarrassment. He wasn't going to live this down for a while.

"So you didn't molest Ratchet's equipment?" Prowl asked, the words coming out before he had a chance to recall his subject's mentality.

Sideswipe's stricken face was his answer. "I most certainly did **not**!" He looked around to the Autobots as a whole and gasped in mock fear, "That's perverted!"

The small giggles became a wave of laughter. Prime banged his gavel, face stern, though he had to struggle to contain his mirth.

"Order in this court! I said Order!"

"I'm still waiting on that femme," Sideswipe purred, giving Prime a cheeky look.

"Keep it up, and I'll find you in contempt!" Prime barked, trying to regain control of the situation. Sideswipe had an uncanny knack of sending things spiraling in all directions. He was like a birthing universe of chaos and contradiction.

"Actually, I'm contagious, not contemptible," Sideswipe beamed.

"Enough!" Prowl barked, making Sideswipe jump and sit upright in his seat. When he had Sideswipe's undivided attention, Prowl continued, "You did not bother any of the medical tools on the work bench during the short time you were in the medical ward?"

"No," Sideswipe said, matching Prowl's stern expression.

"No further questions," Prowl said, taking his seat.

Jazz sauntered up to the podium, customary smile in place. Sideswipe gave him a quirked brow ridge, but didn't rise to the bait.

"Sideswipe, you have a reputation of pulling pranks, is that correct?" Jazz asked.

"I share the reputation with many members of the crew, yourself included," Sideswipe answered. He missed Prowl's startled expression.

"I'm not the one on trial here," Jazz said, waggling a finger at the ruby warrior and getting a glower in answer. "On the day in question, you claimed you went to see Ratchet but changed your mind? Explain to the court, the reasoning behind your short visit."

"Like I said, Ratchet was shouting about Wheeljack and the general incompetence of the Autobots," Sideswipe said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chassis in silent defiance. "Everyone knows what he's like when he's in one of those **moods**."

Several heads nodded, and words of affirmation were exchanged. Ratchet turned in his seat and glared at the muttering bots, who instantly shut their vocalizers. Wheeljack gave a sheepish wave. He knew he was responsible for a lot of Ratchet's volatile ire.

"So your injuries evaporated?" Jazz asked, looking stunned.

"Wasn't injured, just had some aches that I wanted Ratchet to check so they couldn't become an injury later," Sideswipe amended. "But when I heard Ratchet yelling, I thought I'd feel better if I scrubbed up first. If the aches were still there, I was going to go back."

Jazz flickered his visor. After a minute he sighed, "No further questions."

"You are excused," Prime said, watching as Sideswipe bounced from the witness stand and back to his seat. "I will now hear closing arguments."

Jazz got to his pedes and walked to the jurors, his expression firmly fixed to the jovial, fun loving bot everyone knew and loved.

"Mechs of the jury, you have heard the evidence." Jazz started, taking brief pauses and pointing to each member of the jury for emphasis. "The defendant is notorious for pulling pranks and has an extended history as proof. His twin admitted he can shut down their bond as to not give away his intentions. A witness saw him leaving the medical ward, wiping his servos as if removing a sticky substance. A few minutes after this optic witness account, Ratchet found his tools glued to the work bench. We all know that he did it. He's done it before. It's up to you to find him guilty and allow him to be punished for this act, or next time, it could be either one of you who is_ glued_ for entertainment."

Jazz walked back to his seat, Ratchet giving him an appraising optic. Prowl stood, flexing his shoulders, his door wings fluttering as he remained at his table, not wanting to give the illusion of trying to intimidate the jury.

"My colleague would have you believe there is evidence," Prowl started. "But there is no such evidence. My client admits to making a visit to the medical officer for a structural concern and after hearing said medical officer in a state of angered distress, my client left to attend his personal hygiene. The prosecutors witness has confirmed my client was attending his personal maintenance when said tools were found glued into place. The accuser has admitted to using the very epoxy that affixed his tools to the work bench. There was no residual evidence on my client to substantiate a claim of mischievous intent. Therefore, my fellow Cybertronians, you can only find my client not guilty of these charges."

"Very well," Prime said, turning to the assembled bots. "Jury is dismissed to reach a verdict. Please inform your bailiff when you have made your decision."

The jury shuffled out, already muttering to each other in hushed tones. The rest of the crew dispersed, grabbing a cube and debating on what the jury was going to decide. Spike scribbled out several notes, and since he was engrossed in his writing, Bumblebee left his young charge to his thoughts. Fifteen minutes later, Smokescreen called for everyone to return, Spike giving a pitiful whine as he was caught in the middle of his report and wanting to find out the verdict.

Prime took his seat and waited until everyone else was comfortable and nodded to Ironhide, who was enacting at the foreman for the jury. "Has the jury reached a verdict?"

"We have," Ironhide said, giving a nod and turning his attention to Sideswipe, who looked rather frightened. Apparently he didn't hold much stock in the sagacity of his comrades.

"On the first charge of illegal entry into a restricted area?" Prime asked.

"We find the defendant, not guilty," Ironhide said, and it looked like the words cost him a great deal of integrity.

"The second charge of causing mischief?" Prime asked, and it took all of his considerable will power to keep from laughing. Sideswipe was the poster bot for mischief.

"We find the defendant not guilty…. this time," Ironhide said, giving Sideswipe a foul look.

"And the final charge of endangering the crew by gluing medical instruments to a table?" Prime asked, finding Ironhide's expression to be very entertaining. Whatever was going on inside the weapons specialist processor was really wrecking havoc on his emotions.

"We find the defendant, not guilty," Ironhide said as he curled his lip in distaste.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Spike whooped, then grabbed his pen and started scribbling again. Sideswipe grabbed his brother in a hug that made Sunstreaker hiss and spit. A couple of bots turned to Mirage and asked if he would like to accompany them to the showers. The Noble sniffed in his unctuous socialite way and left the room with the air of one suffering from the idiocy of their companions.

"Congratulations," Jazz said with a sullen tone, holding out his hand for Prowl to take.

Prowl accepted the offer and gave a curt nod. "You performed admirably. The verdict could have gone either way."

"I do wonder how he did it," Jazz said, giving Sideswipe a curious look.

"I wonder that myself," Prowl admitted.

The two officers exchanged exasperated looks and went to Smokescreen, who was giving the tallies for wins and offering condolences to the losers. Ratchet skulked off to lick his proverbial wounds. No doubt there were going to be numerous dented helms in future med bay visits. Ratchet was known to hold a grudge like no other.

Sunstreaker extracted himself from his brother's bear hug, growling oaths that would have scared Megatron into hiding.

"Let's go celebrate!" Sideswipe crooned, wrapping his arm around his brother's waist and directing him to the door.

Sunstreaker snarled at the approaching bots who congratulated Sideswipe. Sideswipe took it all in stride, thanking them and accepting their offers for celebratory drinks later. Sunstreaker bristled, not liking the close proximity of some mechs and feeling very uneasy with all the attention. Sideswipe steered his twin out the door toward their private quarters, knowing Sunstreaker was going to need a few shots of stout high grade to attend the party later.

When they reached the privacy of their quarters, Sunstreaker shut the door and turned his to his brother.

"So,** how** did you do it?" he asked.

Sideswipe's smile was the embodiment of wicked delight. He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. "Axel grease on the hands. Glue has difficulty in adhering to it."

"You know Prowl will find some way to make sure you pay?" Sunstreaker said, giving his head a shake at the brilliance of his twin. "He knows you did it. It's only a matter of time before he figures it out and you get punished."

"Yeah," Sideswipe said, sliding back a hidden panel and extracting a cube of bright purple high grade. "But won't he have fun trying to figure it out!"

It was later that week that Prowl was seen performing a strange, shuffling kind of walk as he exited the medical wing, his aft plates glued together.

**00000-ooooo-IIIIIII-0000000-oooooo-IIIIIIIIIIIII**

I totally blame Bluestreak for this! I try to make these rather short, 15 pages or less. This one… got away from me. I apologize for its length but as you can tell, there really wasn't a way to shorten it without losing some of the drama/fun. And I do hope I got the legal crap right. I've had limited classes in criminal justice.

This chapter was really hurried and I apologize for any mistakes. I'll get to work on the next chapter here as soon as I get some inspiration. Time is really difficult right now and I'm feeling overwhelmed. Any positive emotion sent my way would really bolster my spirits. (triple digit heat, constant power outages, houseguest, taking care of 97yr old grandmother, and having to cook meals every day for twice the usual amount of people) I would go on vacation but with my luck, I'd end up as a stereotypical character on LOST!


	33. The Secret of Sunstreaker

**The Secret of Sunstreaker**

**AN: Just a random moment. Its really short and I apologize but with everything piled up on top of me, I just don't have the time to do anything 'substantial'. And I didn't want anyone to think that I had forgotten to upload since it's the weekend. **

**HUGE THANK YOU to ALL reviewers! And WELCOME to the GUESTS who left me messages but no names. I do try to send notes to everyone, so if I missed you, let me know. I honestly appreciate everything my wonderful reviewers put on the screen. **

**00000-ooooo-IIIIII-00000-oooo-IIIIII-000000**

"Oh, I've been touched by an angel!" Sideswipe crooned, pretending to swoon at his brother's touch.

"Keep it up and you'll be beaten by the devil," Sunstreaker growled in promise, his hand darting out and catching his twin on the side of the helm. Sideswipe didn't even flinch from the contact.

"Oh, my little heavenly cherub," Sideswipe crowed, his spark a tumultuous crescendo of giddiness.

"Just what makes you think I'm an angel?" Sunstreaker asked, sarcasm dripping from his vocalizer as he tried to slap his brother a second time. Sideswipe easily avoided him. "At any time did I give the impression that I'm all soft and gentle?"

"I've seen you paint," Sideswipe said, shuttering his optics like a femme batting her eyes. His voice hitched into a falsetto lilt. "An artist's touch is _very_ delicate."

"When have I ever given the impression that I'm only here for your guidance and reassurance?" Sunstreaker countered, his processor filled with images of the heavenly host.

"You keep me out of trouble," Sideswipe said, earning an incredulous snort from his brother.

"No I don't," Sunstreaker muttered, finding a particular image that showed a brilliant aura around a smiling seraphim. Sunstreaker wondered about the comparison. Him? _Smiling_?

"Angel, indeed." Sunstreaker scoffed.

"Well, there was that one time when you drank that tainted energon and were rather… _angelic_." Sideswipe said with a suggestive grin.

"Does it look like I have a halo?" Sunstreaker spat, his fist already formed and ready to launch.

Sideswipe took a moment to think, his gaze sweeping over his brother's golden form. Slowly he nodded his head. "I can see it." When Sunstreaker gave a strangled growl, Sideswipe added, "You shine quite brilliantly."

Sunstreaker's angered expression faltered.

"There is a halo around you when you're under a bright light," Sideswipe went on, his gaze roving his twin's body. "And you do have a rather strong aura, which gives you the conceptual idea of supernatural radiance."

Sunstreaker bristled at the term, 'idea.' He was slagging gorgeous and Sideswipe knew it! How dare his brother insinuate that he was anything less than heavenly perfection!

"Course, all that's missing is the wings." Sideswipe offered a cheeky look, knowing he was riling his brother. The bond was weighted with anger and annoyance.

Sunstreaker offered a snort and rolled his optics. He had a feeling his twin was going to mention 'borrowing' Seeker wings the next time they engaged in battle. But, Sideswipe proved once again the deviousness of his processor.

Sideswipe gave his twin a mischievous grin. "I bet the ones those human femmes wear with their dainty under armor would fit you."

Well, he wasn't expecting that. Sunstreaker's optics darkened in warning, his arms flexing with tension.

"_Sunstreaker's Secret_," Sideswipe crowed, "Has a nice ring to it!"

Sunstreaker's fist flew the short distance between them, landing squarely between his brother's optics. Sideswipe never perceived the threat before his world exploded in a cataclysm of black.

"No one's putting wings on me," Sunstreaker growled, though Sideswipe couldn't hear him. He made to leave his unconscious brother, but with a deadly serious smirk, he looked at his twin and added, "And only the finest silk touches _this_ body!"

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**There aren't many of these short ones and I get tired of trying to fashion a long plot just to explain things. Sometimes, its great just to read the 'moments' and not bother about how it got to that point and what's after it.**

**As always, reviews are cherished and appreciated. **


	34. Bed Side Manner

**Bed Side Manner**

AN: I don't know why but I just cant seem to keep the twins out of the brig. And for some reason, I keep thinking Sideswipe would torture his brother. Who would have guessed, right?

THANK YOU to all reviewers. You have made my day, weekend, week, and my gloomy times a bit brighter. All your thoughts and wonderful comments have been a saving grace and I want to THANK each and every one of you for your kindness and sparkfelt words.

This chapter isn't so long, but it was the only thing I had 'ready' and with so much happening, I don't want to give up on my only stress outlet. This is a little early but I need a breather and fanfiction is my only escape from reality at the moment. So, until I'm kidnapped by Lamborghini twins, I shall endeavor to type away to not only boost my mood but entertain my faithful and wonderful, readers.

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"Brig," Prowl said, pointing to his door, one doorwing fluttering. "Two weeks!"

"Two weeks?" Sideswipe whined as Sunstreaker spun on his heel and stalked toward the brig.

Sunstreaker knew that arguing would only make the Second In Command angrier, and he had every intention of keeping his wash rack privileges. If Sideswipe wanted to dig into his grave a little wider and deeper for comfort, then he could do it alone. Sunstreaker wasn't going to share the same fate. He left to the symphony of his twin whining and Prowl's growls. Funny how the two harmonized so well.

Sunstreaker sequestered himself in the far cell of the brig, the energy bars activating as soon as he stepped over the threshold. His joints ached, error messages bled through his vision, and an annoying systems alarm warned him of low fuel reserves. He had barely finished patrol when Sideswipe had grabbed him and marched him into the rec room. Sunstreaker thought his brother wanted to grab a cube together, but it turned out he only wanted back up because he had lost a bet and Smokescreen was demanding payment. The only reason why the Diversion expert wasn't sharing their punishment is because Prowl walked in just in time to see Sunstreaker holding Smokescreen by his bent doorwing and Sideswipe landing a solid punch to the Praxian's jaw. It took some wrangling, but Prowl was able to direct both front liners to his office, where he demanded an explanation and then enacted the punishment.

Five minutes after Sunstreaker lay down on his berth, he heard the energy bars disengage. He frowned, looking over to see Sideswipe's pouting face enter the cell, the bars flickering back to life.

"What are you doing in here?" Sunstreaker asked. He knew that it was protocol to separate the twins during confinement. The command element had learned that lesson after the first shared incarceration that lead to the entire cell block being decommissioned in Iacon.

"Prowl said that we have to share a cell until the other ones are back in operational order," Sideswipe said with a growl, slamming his fist into the wall. A dull clang rang throughout the brig, like funeral bells singing one to their rest.

Sunstreaker's optics narrowed, remembering the brig was going through a maintenance overhaul and were supplied with enough power to operate one cell at a time.

It was going to be a long two weeks.

"Whatever," Sunstreaker sighed, settling into a comfortable position on the berth. "Just keep the chaos to a minimum. I want to charge."

Sunstreaker's optics had barely shuttered, when he heard the creak of the other berth and Sideswipe's voice.

"Come here, little bitch," Sideswipe said in a gruff tone, his face twisted in mischievous glee.

Sunstreaker didn't bother onlining his optics. He knew Sideswipe was goading him into a fight. He could feel the giddiness in his spark like a disease. It really turned his tanks.

"I'm not now, nor will I ever be, 'your bitch'," Sunstreaker said flatly.

"Sure you are," Sideswipe said, trying his best to suppress his laughter. He lowered his voice into a gruff, sultry tone and added, "I bought you for a pack of cigarettes. Now, come over here and make your daddy happy."

"If my _'daddy'_ wants to be happy, he can entertain himself," Sunstreaker said, still refusing to look at his twin. "Because if he comes near me, I'll implant him into the wall."

Sideswipe snickered as he lay down on the opposite berth. The thick foam padding gave a little waft of air as he stretched but no other sounds permeated the small cell. A couple of minutes later, the lights flickered before casting the room into darkness.

"Lights out," came Red Alert's voice via the comm..

Sunstreaker offered a rude gesture to the dark and started the shut down sequence for a nice long recharge, when a sound halted his progress. A barely discernable creak was heard from the opposite side, quickly followed by the soft, though not completely inaudible footfalls of a sneaky twin.

"I'm warning you…." Sunstreaker growled before the world exploded.

Sideswipe let out a whoop and launched himself on top of his brother. He intended on pinning Sunstreaker down and maybe messing up his paint, just to get him fired up enough so he'd throw a punch. But it didn't go according to plan. Sunstreaker had been ready for the imbecile attack, and as soon as Sideswipe landed on top of his twin, Sunstreaker grabbed his shoulders and used all the power behind his frame to launch Sideswipe into the air.

Sideswipe screamed as he went flying through the dark. He landed against the wall with a dull ringing gong, his gravitational slide to the floor accenting the music with a beautiful screech.

"Oww," Sideswipe groaned when he finally landed, sprawled partially upside down against the wall. "You fragger! That's gonna leave a mark."

It took him a moment to gather his scattered wits and regain his pedes. He vented harshly, his optics shining in the darkness. Two evil pinpricks of violence. With a snarl he landed on his unsuspecting brother and the fight was on.

Sunstreaker had hoped Sideswipe had gotten the hint, but apparently his twin was in the middle of one of his psychotic breaks. The only thing to do in such situations was to pound the living slag out of him and then call Ratchet to deal with him. Ratchet scared everyone, even the twins. Sunstreaker briefly wondered why Prime didn't send Ratchet into the Decepticon ranks. The war would be over in no time.

The inside of the cell was filled with a collection of grunts, hisses, curses, shouts, and the sound of metal denting metal. With a growling yell, a body went flying across the room, landing on perfect target to the smear of red paint that already adorned the wall.

After the impact, there was the screeching sound of grinding metal, followed by the heavy thud of an unconscious body.

"Fragger," Sunstreaker hissed, returning to his comfortable position on the berth. He opened a comm. to Ratchet.

'_**Ratchet, your services are required in the brig**__,_' he broadcasted on all frequencies, unsure which one the medic was currently utilizing.

'_**Now what**__?'_ Ratchet snapped.

'_**Sideswipe was asking for an aft beating, so I handed it to him,**__'_ Sunstreaker supplied, not remorseful in the least. _**'His stupidity has caused some twinges in my joints. I think I will need some repairs as well.'**_

'_**I'm on my way,'**_ Ratchet sighed in resignation.

It didn't take Ratchet long to get to the brig. He stormed down the hall, disengaged the energy bars and stalked into the cell. He glanced to Sideswipe, who still lay contorted against the wall, and offered an irritated huff, before turning his attention to Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker's optics were dark, and there was a rattle in his vents. Sunstreaker remained still as he felt the diagnostic scans tickle his sensors. Ratchet mumbled a few choice words about twin idiots and the questionable intelligence of one in particular, then tried to ascertain their parentage that ended in the conclusion that they were from the Pit itself. Sunstreaker took the verbal bashing with ease, having been subjected to it for so many eons, he'd be lost without it. Ratchet may fuss and fume, but when he attended the more delicate circuitry, there was no mistaking his gentle care and seriousness in repairing the damage.

"Sunstreaker?" Ratchet said after a minute of optical and diagnostic scan. "You're showing a fifty percent weakness along two junctions and there's some considerable wear to your structural transformation seams."

"Extended patrols," was Sunstreaker's explanation.

"To med bay with you," Ratchet said, giving the golden warrior a nudge to get his attention.

"Punishment detail. Two weeks," Sunstreaker said, not bothering to online his optics.

"Well, Prowl can come and talk to me about the accommodations," Ratchet put in, physically grabbing the frontliner and pulling him into a sitting position. Sunstreaker offered a grunt in warning, but allowed the medic the invasion into his personal space. Aside from Sideswipe, Ratchet was the only one who could come close and not receive physical injury.

"What about Sides?" Sunstreaker asked, noting his brother was still unconscious against the wall. There was also a beautiful, Sideswipe shaped imprint on the wall. Looked rather artistic. Sunstreaker smirked. Even in the dark, he was good.

"I'll patch him up and he can stay in the brig," Ratchet answered, motioning to the exit. The energy bars hadn't reengaged since the medic entered the cell. When he left, the bars would reinitialize once again.

"He won't like that," Sunstreaker said, unable to keep the sadistic smirk off his face. His brother was an aft. He deserved a proper punishment.

"Tough," Ratchet said, kneeling down and scanning over the prone form. "He'll just have to live with it." When his scans displayed the results of just an unconscious mech, he hoisted the red frontliner up and threw him unceremoniously on the berth. His finger retracted, his favorite arc welder sliding into existence.

"What are you doing?" Sunstreaker asked, wondering if the medic had lost his processor.

"Gonna weld his aft to the berth," Ratchet said, setting to work. "If confinement doesn't work and he _still_ has to cause problems, let's see what some immobility will do for him."

Sunstreaker arched a brow ridge and set off down the hall, hearing the soft fizzle noises that accompany a welder. Sideswipe **hated** inactivity. Ratchet knew that. It was going to be quite interesting over the next couple of weeks.

Sunstreaker smiled. Seriously, he was going to talk to Prime and recommend that Ratchet be on the front line.

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**Another short one! Go figure! But I wanted to torture Sides and gives Sunny a break. It seems I like to torture one more than the other and I believe in balance and not showing favoritism so I changed it up a bit. :D **

**All feedback is appreciated! Fuel my muse! She, and myself, are running on fumes and I seriously need the positive feedback sent my way. **

**Ever feel as if there are a million barbed hooks shoved in every available place in your skin and you are being pulled in a million different directions at once? That's what I'm feeling right now… while in a well, in the middle of the jungle, up to my neck in slimy quicksand with a boulder on my head. **

**Next chapter may be a little longer in coming and it may be darker than normal. We'll see. **


	35. Sundries For Sale

**Sundries for Sale**

**Rated: T **for suggestive themes, adult situations, and mentions of rape

AN: Gosh! Over 300 reviews! *author passes out* I know this is a little early but with all the wonderful words of encouragement coming my way, the muse came home to roost and crowed for hours. As warned, this is a dark fic that I outlined for awhile and finally managed to bang together from fragments. If it seems hurried I apologize. I just wanted to get something out to my readers that would satiate their thirst for twin-related entertainment. Things are FINALLY starting to look up. The dark clouds are allowing little rays of sunshine to peek through and I'm eagerly awaiting the sun to chase all this darkness away. I've had enough of the overcast.

So, HUGE THANK YOU to ALL reviewers. Your words are not only appreciated but they give hope and strength to someone who truly needs the extra light. My spirits lift with each and every note. Just don't strangle me for this dark chapter.

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They couldn't remember their first moment of life. They only knew they had to be together, or the pain in their chests would become so great, they would offline until reunion. Moments bled away into a continuous stream of awareness that neither could remember being separated. Their young minds were already bound, becoming one, though in reality, they were not even a single, whole spark.

They were twins.

A rare occurrence that had only happened once in Cybertronian history, and the First Twins had lived in misery and neglect until their termination. And now, some millions of years later, one life became two. One spark split, sending two halves into separate frames and binding them together.

Considered an aberration of the All Spark, they had been discarded. Tossed to the streets to fend for themselves, they had no recollection of the priests and Prime who had witnessed their odd birthing. One minute there was one spark hovering between the last two frames to be presented for sparking and for reasons known only to Primus, the last spark had split, taking both shells as its own. One whole residing in two bodies. The caretakers had been stunned and bewildered, not having basis protocols to deal with the situation. So as the other young sparks who had taken to frame were presented to family units for upbringing and care, two little half sparks were left alone with the high priest. Not being a caregiver model, the priest had sent out a call, asking for any family unit to accept the strange anomaly twins, but no one wanted the stigma attached to such obviously cursed young sparks.

And so they had been turned away. The streets accepted them, allowing their small bodies to easily hide in the vast metallic collection of life that littered the planet. They were but mere parasites, living off the meager scraps left behind by the bigger, more complex organisms. It was a pitiful life. One that didn't hold much future. Until a wise mech with a talented glossa and knowledge far above his station found the two waifs. He captured them, cleaned their tiny frames and gave them enough energon to soothe their aching tanks. Then when they lulled in heavy overcharge from the good grade fuel, they found themselves locked in a cage, mechs and femmes passing by and giving them appraising optics.

One femme tried to pry the little ones apart, but their strength was incredible. They refused to relinquish their hold on each other, their cries and clicks filling the atmosphere with a soft song of desperation. The femme had hissed at their stubbornness, barking to the merchant that his merchandise didn't know its place and he had better train his wares before hocking undisciplined slaves to the populace. Her words had fallen on the audios of a roguishly handsome mech, who sought the source of the distressed whines. When he found two sparklings, one mottled brown, the other ashen grey, he pulled out a scanner and checked the health of the potential slaves. He gave a start of interest noting the display on the screen. With a smile he nodded to the cage, purchasing the tiny bundles from their enthusiastic owner.

With wide blue optics, the twins looked to their new master, not understanding the hum of happy systems. They remained tightly wound to each other, offering scared clicks and trembling frames, their young processors unable to comprehend their situation. When their new owner entered his home, he called for a couple of slaves to come attend his new purchase, and with terrified optics the twins watched two femmes open their cage and smile, their arms open in invitation.

But neither twin moved. All they needed were each other. These strangers were not needed, though deep in their broken sparks, they felt a desire to curl against the slight feminine frames. Still locked in a protective embrace, they didn't notice the medic slip behind him until a sharp pain pierced their necks, sending both spiraling into a deep charge.

As they lay on the examine table, the medic ran virus scans and system checks. They had no upgrades or downloads consistent with their apparent age. The medic scanned their frames and found all the right components, including sealed interface panels that housed both spike and valve. All Cybertronians were built with both attributes and after experiencing their first interfaces, they could upgrade to what best suited their preference.

Both younglings awoke at the same time, their optics snapping open and startling the attending femmes were who wiping along their seams and removing the congealed build-up of lubricants from their joints. With smiles the femmes lifted the younglings and held them close, both twins sensing the warmth and beating spark in the femmes. Instinctually they hugged closer to the feminine bodies, their own basic programming telling them it was a safe and the expected thing to do. With curious looks the twins exchanged small clicks as they were lowered into their first baths. The femmes held each tiny protoform close, walking into the deep baths of their master and allowing the small frames to cling to them as they felt the solvent remove the grit and grime from their tiny frames. Soon, both younglings were slapping the water, enjoying the sounds made and the cool, lightness in their frames as the accumulated filth was removed. They forgot what it was like to be clean. It was very refreshing.

A loud, thunderous voice caused both twins to stop their playing and tuck back into the safety of the arms holding them above the water. The arms tightened around their small frames. The femmes exited the water, holding their precious cargo against their sparks.

The master of the house stormed into the room, his face set in fury. He barked words the twins had never heard, but his tone was quite clear. He was furious. Without looking his hand lashed out and struck one of the femmes. She fell to the ground, using her own body to shield the youngling. As soon as she was struck, the smaller frame hit, and suddenly, both sets of infantile vocalizers were screaming. The master drew back to strike the blaring verbal alarm, when he halted his actions, noting the femme holding the distraught youngling was soothing away his cries, and in turn, his twin was whimpering in answer. Narrowing his optics he bade the fallen femme to rise. When she was once again on her pedes, he reached out and pinched the brown youngling.

Simultaneously both twins started to cry, the ashen gray kicking and rubbing along his plating where his twin had been pinched.

Wanting further proof, the master slipped his hand between the tiny legs and pressed his forefinger against the brown interface panel. And as expected, the ashen gray youngling winced, wiggling away from an offense not his own. The master smiled. He had plans for these two. He was a mech who knew how to wait and who could spot a deal, no matter how minute at the time. And he felt his spark pulse, knowing he just had a credit mine handed to him in the form of two tiny sparklings. He ordered they be repainted, and hired a tutor to begin their downloads and training exercises for adulthood.

The brown mechling was painted a deep carmine, reminiscent of the setting sun long ago. The ashen gray mechling was painted gold, though he scowled at the first three color choices the femme offered. With a disdainful optic he stared at the pallet, and only when the femme laughed and conceded, did he allow her to paint him the new scheme.

The younglings were named Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, and they were dotted on by the staff at the masters estate. Being too young to understand, they watched as mechs and femmes came and went all hours of the cycle, many of them finding difficulty in walking. The slaves of the house attended to every aspect of running the large estate, and the twins curiously watched the progression of visitors through the door. As they matured, they noted the mannerisms of the household, adopting the same attitude, as it was expected of those in service. Many a time the master would slip his hand between the legs of his femme slaves, and they would oblige, their faces blank and impassive as he took his fill of their offering. One evening the twins witnessed their master grinding his body against a femme, and from the noises both were making, it was quite painful. They thought about offering assistance, but not wanting to earn the ire of their master, they remained in the shadow, watching as their master made the femme cry, a horrible screeching noise filling their audios as he pressed her into the floor. Sunstreaker had made a noise of interest, wanting to do something to stop the crying, but the noise attracted the attention of their master. With a twisted look that made both of their tanks clench, he pressed the femme violently into the floor, where she sobbed and begged for leniency. The master was deaf to her pleas.

The next day, both twins were performing their maintenance detail when Sideswipe felt something slip between his legs. He beeped, looking down and finding his master's hand rubbing along his lower regions. Having been trained to mimic the other staff, he widened his stance, curious as to what his master was doing. This was something new. Sunstreaker had halted his cleaning detail when he felt fingers ghosting over his own plating. He watched from across the hall, curious to the sensation tingling along his lower regions.

Sideswipe frowned, feeling as if he had lowered himself into something hot. His lower body felt overheated and very uncomfortable. Frowning, he looked to his master, his look asking permission for an explanation, but the master only smiled, his fingers caressing along the heating panel and rubbing along the seams. With a gasp Sideswipe felt his interface panel retract for the first time. Unbidden, Sunstreaker copied his twin, his own face registering shock as the new systems warmed in arousing attention.

Sideswipe was going to take the bold step in asking what was happening, when he felt something extremely uncomfortable. His master's digits were pressing along a very sensitive area, and from the resistance that greeted the probe, his digits weren't supposed to go there. Sideswipe winced and stepped back, trying to put distance between the painful exploration, but his master copied his move, his fingers rubbing and circling the rubber seal that strained to prevent further intrusion.

"Master?" Sideswipe asked, taking another step back and pressing his legs together, effectively limiting his master's exploration.

"You do not disobey me," his master ground out.

"I do not understand," Sideswipe said, blinking furiously, trying to make sense of the sensory input and the violent drumming of his spark. His optics darted over his master's shoulder and found Sunstreaker standing a step behind their master, his expression one of confusion and pain as he mirrored his twin.

"You two are going to fetch a good price," their master said, removing his hand and slipping the probing digits into his oral cavity. He hummed, enjoying the untouched taste of his young charge. He felt Sunstreaker's presence before he saw him, and with a start, turned to see the golden twin standing directly behind him. His optics drifted to the golden mechs waist and with great delight, he saw the retracted panel.

"I think its time I collected on my investment," the master said, sidestepping the golden mech and gliding to his office to make several important calls.

"What is this?" Sideswipe asked, his hand going to his interface array and feeling the warmed panel.

"I do not know," Sunstreaker admitted, searching his own body and finding it very odd. He didn't like the sensations being filtered from his twin or his own body.

Several cycles later and the twins were ordered to clean and buff themselves for presentation. Several femmes were ordered to assist in their proper preparation. The twins obliged, not understanding the reason behind their detailed maintenance, but graciously accepted the feminine help. When they were finished, the twins shone like precious gems just cast from the fiery tempest.

As fluid as liquid metal they strode into the viewing room, ready to do their master's bidding, as they always have. They didn't notice the rooms occupants until they were stationed behind their master, their heads bowed in respect.

"Lie on the tables and retract your covers," their master ordered.

Both twins looked up with curious expressions. Their master turned and slipped his hands between their jeweled thighs, rubbing against the forgotten panel and hissed in their audios, "You will retract these panels and allow your bodies to be examined."

Unsure of the motivation to do such a thing, both twins looked to the small tables in front of their master. They were little more than serving tables, hardly big enough to lie on comfortably, but they ventured to the side, looking the smooth polished surfaces over with curiosity. A femme approached and gave both a sad look before grasping Sideswipe's shoulders and sitting him on the end of the table. She pressed him back to lie down, which he obliged, his optics darting around the room and wondering what was the reasoning behind this kind of mood and apparent presentation. When his head rested on the table, she pressed on his knees, silently biding him to open them. He looked to his twin and found Sunstreaker watching from the edge of his own table, his head canting as he tried to decipher the motives for such a strange service. Neither twin had to assume this position before. It was most strange.

The femme applied pressure to the inside of Sideswipe's knees, her expression darkening, her bottom lip component pressed between her denta. Sideswipe gave her a soothing smile, hoping to ease her obvious concern and separated his knees. She smiled, running her hand down his legs in sorrowful encouragement and stepped away.

"Remain where you are," the master commanded. Sideswipe arched up to look at his master. "Now, retract your panel and allow them to inspect you."

Sideswipe was going to ask who would be doing the inspection, and why, when he heard a deep gruff growl.

"The panel won't retract," it said in annoyance.

"Retract," the master commanded.

Sideswipe looked between his twin and his master, clearly not knowing how to obey. Sunstreaker was pushed onto his back by the femme, his legs spread and dangling over the end just like his twin.

"Forgive me master, but they are still young," the femme supplied, taking the risk of speaking out of turn. There was a chance she would be reprimanded later, but the clients were getting restless, and that meant that pain would befall every slave, not just the ones currently on display. "Perhaps they do not yet understand the sequence to open their panels."

Instead of berating the slave, the master of the house gave a thoughtful nod. He recalled the twins reaction upon their first inspection. He gave a nod to the femme, who smiled at Sunstreaker, her delicate fingers tracing over his lower body, dipping to the seams and caressing the sensitive wires beneath. Sunstreaker's optics widened, intrigued by the femmes actions as his lower regions started to get warm. Sideswipe pulled himself partially upright, watching as the femme moved along his brother, her touch transmitting to him via their link. When her fingers teased around the edges of the heating panel, it caused both panels to retract. Sideswipe gave a startled hiss, looking at his own body and wondering what the sensations were filtering across his sensor net.

As soon as the panel slid aside, the femme offered a mournful smile and stepped away. Sunstreaker rose up part of the way to ask her what was happening, when his master's voice cracked like a whip.

"Remain," he snapped.

Sunstreaker relented, falling back onto the table and remaining immobile. He heard shuffling pedes and mumbled voices and when he turned his head aside, he noted there were at least thirty mechs in the room. All of them were taking turns stepping forward, their fingers tracing the rubber seal on one, then the other twin. The action caused both twins to jump and shy away, but their master's voice made it clear that if they didn't allow this inspection, his justice would be swift. Their protoforms still bore the marks of his first punishment. It wasn't something that was easily forgotten.

Writhing, feeling hot and uncomfortable the twins remained on their respective tables. Servos ghosted over their frames, traced their seals, each exam costing their resolve. Sideswipe started to tremble, not liking the situation. Sunstreaker tried to send comfort and reassurance, but his attempts were weak as he too was subjected to the humiliation. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew he didn't like it. It felt…. Wrong.

"As you can see, both retain their seals," their master said, smiling in an oily way. "Now, not only is this opportunity unique, but it offers another rare occurrence that will be granted to only one mech, and one mech only. One may have the rare opportunity to berth twins."

The assembled mechs quirked their brow plates and narrowed their optics in interest. The twins looked to one another, not quite grasping the connotation of 'berth.' They had their own berth they shared when they charged. Did their master mean for them to charge with someone else? That seemed to be an odd thing to do.

"You do not believe this… this.." the mech said, motioning to the displayed wares with a questioning stare. "That their _existence_ is a perversion of Primus or an aberration that one would be wise to avoid?"

"Society follows our lead and looks to us for their guidance and assurance," one mech intoned, getting several mechs to nod in agreement.

"We are the upper echelon of Cybertron," a blue mech said in a cultured tone that made Sunstreaker perk up. The accent was very intriguing. "If the commoners found out about this… auction…. Then how do you think they would perceive us?"

"We could lose our business contacts," another mech put in.

"Or our licenses," added another.

"What could be so unique that it would intrigue the upper class into a perverse deal that many would frown upon and cause our Nobility to be questioned?" the blue mech asked.

Sunstreaker hid a smile. He thought the mech talked funny.

The master went between the tables, his fingers lightly touching the deep set red that made Sideswipe look up with innocent optics. "You see, they are _spark-split_ twins. A rarity within itself, but it offers a very unique situation, that I know your varied and cultured palettes will appreciate. What one twin experiences," the master said, pinching Sideswipe's arm. To the gathered mechs surprise, Sunstreaker winced as well, his arm jerking. "The other senses as well."

Several mechs scrutinized the displayed wares with more interest. It was true they were the elite of society, but as the generous master of the house insinuated, they also had refined and various tastes for pleasure. A gift like this was truly rare. And it increased the price of the two being offered. It was one thing to berth a slave or innocent that housed only one spark. It was something new altogether to berth beings that only had half a spark. The illicitness of their lives alone was enough to make their proposition very savory.

"Five hundred," the blue mech said, not one to mince words or waste time.

"I am not parting them," the master said, giving the blue mech a narrowed optic. His spark was already thrumming with anticipation of a hefty return on his investment. Five hundred credits was a very nice bid. "They are to be berthed together."

The Noble mech regarded the master with a steely expression before answering. "I am aware of the parameters. My bid still stands at five hundred thousand credits."

The master's fuel pump faltered. His knee joints almost sent him to the floor. That was far more than what he ever expected the twins to fetch. Apparently his clientele were aware of the unique opportunity and were willing to pay for its once in a lifetime occurrence.

"Six hundred," another mech said, giving the blue mech a challenging look.

"Seven," the blue mech countered, not perturbed by a possible usurper.

The twins exchanged confused looks, listening as the credit totals climbed higher. Sideswipe's head lulled to the side, watching as the blue mech eliminated two challengers, his posture one of refinement and expensive tastes. Sunstreaker sent a wave of laughter through their bond every time the blue mech spoke, letting Sideswipe know how much the mechs voice tickled his twin. There was just something about his tone. His mannerisms. His poise. He exuded power and confidence. But it all seemed so fake and transparent.

Sideswipe was pulled from his thoughts as his masters voice rose. "One point nine million credits. Going once. Going twice." He paused, looking between the assorted Nobles and nodding to the blue mech. "Sold!"

The blue mech inclined his head, acknowledging the win as his fellow elitists congratulated him on his purchase. As the mechs mingled and offered their praises to the blue mech, the master tapped both twins on their shoulders.

"Up," he commanded. "You are to obey his commands as if they were my own. Understand?"

The twins nodded as they slowly pulled themselves up.

When they returned to a seated position, their interface panels remaining open, the master turned to the femme who had attended them. "Take them to chamber five."

She nodded and gestured for the twins to follow. They did as commanded, Sideswipe walking funny as his interface panel refused to return to its closed position. Whatever had forced it to open was keeping it that way until he somehow found a way to get it to close. The intricacies of his body were new to him.

As the trio entered chamber five, the femme motioned for Sunstreaker to climb onto the berth. He looked to his twin, who shrugged, his optics darting around the room and taking in its lavish accommodations. Perhaps their master was pleased with them and they were granted new quarters? The plush berth was certainly a vast improvement to the cold metal they usually charged on. Sunstreaker's attention was drifting around the room as well, sharing his brother's emotional joy at being provided with better quarters. Both twins could easily fit on this new berth. It was quite spacious and the padding on it was divine. There were also pillows scattered about and shelves lining the wall that were littered with many colored bottles and neatly folded cloths.

"Just… relax," the femme said softly in Sunstreaker's audio, earning his wonder-filled optics. "Trust me. This goes easier if you relax and don't resist."

"What are you talking about?" Sunstreaker asked, then jumped as a metal shackle was firmly attached to his wrist. He hissed, pulling on the metal. "What are you doing?"

"All slaves are to be restrained during their Breaking," she replied, giving Sunstreaker a look of sorrow.

Sideswipe was at his twin's side, his hand grasping the femme's and pulling her away from his brother. "What are you doing?"

"The master commands it," she said, trying to instill the sense of importance to the two mechs.

Sideswipe gasped as a metal shackle snapped onto his wrist. He tugged on the chain, and before he knew what was happening, the femme had shackled the other as well. Sunstreaker rose to protest, but she easily overpowered his small frame and secured his bonds as well. The lock had barely clicked shut when the door opened and the blue regal mech stepped inside. He nodded to the attendant and she gave a curtsy of respect before taking her leave, her optics sorrowful to the two bound to the berth.

The Noble shut the door and hit the locks, looking at his purchase with feral optics. He felt his interface array come online with fervor, and stepped toward the two cringing mechs.

When the Noble had consummated his bargain he rose, stretching in languid motion and feeling the soothing tingle on his plating that came only after intense interfacing. He removed a cloth and wiped down his panels, smiling at his own silver stain and the juvenile gray stain of his two conquests mingling with his own fluids. When he was presentable, he unlocked the door with a special code and disappeared through the door without a backward glance.

Sideswipe was lying on his side, his body trembling so hard it caused the world to distort. His plating felt alive and crawling, covering his body with filth and humiliation. He felt through the bond he shared with his twin and instead of the warm, soothing presence that normally greeted his inquiry, a distant, aching void answered. Sideswipe shuddered even harder.

Sunstreaker lay on his side as well, though he wasn't curled in on himself like his twin.

He felt… cold.

Empty.

Detached.

He felt like his spark had been extinguished by the lustful Noble, who not only enjoyed taking their valves, but their oral cavities and finally, breaking their spike seals and holding them by the throat as he rode them to completion. Not only were both broken and humiliated, but they shared the same never-ending, vividly vicious loop of reliving the moment when their twin was taken, their screams echoing in the other's spark. It was bad enough being used and violated so thoroughly that it stole the warmth of your frame and stilled your spark, but to sense the same thing happening to your twin and being powerless to stop their pain…. It was torture of the highest degree.

The twins weren't sure how long they were in that torture chamber, but the femme that had secured them came in after the Noble had left to release them from their bonds. She wiped a tentative hand over Sideswipe's face, causing him to flinch from the contact. Sadly she went to Sunstreaker, and when she saw the deadened look in his optics, her spark faltered.

"I am sorry," she said, wanting to soothe their pain. But it was something that all slaves, especially those that worked in a pleasure house, had to endure. They were at their masters whimsy, and they could do nothing to stop the ravaging of their spirit.

Sunstreaker's chains fell away and he got up, every intention of finding an acid bath and committing himself to its gentle release, but the femme captured his attention with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"The master wishes to see you both," she said, her face twisting in agony. "Now that you have been broken, it is his turn to berth you."

Sunstreaker's expression faltered, a frown wanting to form but his spark didn't have the energy to convey such emotion. He felt drained, physically and mentally. And the waves of pain and anguish coming from his twin was rubbing his senses raw, until they were bleeding just as badly as his sore body.

"No," Sideswipe whispered when she went to pull him to his pedes. "I can not do this."

"It is what is expected," she said, taking the chance to pull him into a hug. She could feel the tremors of his body rattle her soul. "The master has been more than gracious with you, allowing you time before entering his service."

Sunstreaker rose, his body throbbing in pain, burning with humiliation, but his spark cold. He looked at the distraught form of his brother held protectively by the femme who had chained them to their fate and felt his bitterness rise. He pushed her away, grabbing his brother by an arm and hauling him to his pedes.

"We leave," Sunstreaker said, his usually vibrant voice was flat, emotionless.

"You can not," the femme said, darting in front of them to block their path. "The master will have you beaten for trying to leave." Her face twisted in tragic pain, her voice soft and mousey. "Or worse."

"What could be worse than _**this**_?" Sunstreaker asked, his voice turning harsh, brutal.

"The master can have you chained and taken by members of staff and all his guests," she said, fear making her voice crack. "Your body will be free. All may partake of you until he had deemed you sufficiently corrected."

Sideswipe started to shake harder at her words. Sunstreaker tightened his grip on his twin, sending reassurance through their bond and nudging his brother with his head to gain his attention. Sideswipe returned the gesture, pressing their foreheads together, a soft whine emanating from his chassis.

The femme squeaked, visibly shaken by something. With a desperate plea she motioned toward the door. "Our master hates to be kept waiting. He is expecting you in his quarters." She grasped Sunstreaker's arm, her optics wide and pleading. "You must submit to him, or else face a crowd who will violate you far beyond your imagination."

Sideswipe's tremors became more pronounced at her words. Sunstreaker puffed his vents and took the first step toward their doom. He wasn't going to allow his brother to suffer like that again. The pain inflicted on his body had been easily forgotten, cast aside and overlooked. It was like he stepped away from his frame and entertained the outside world. The pain coming from his twin during his violation had been his undoing. If it took Sunstreaker allowing anyone to take his body as the Noble had done, then he was willing to sacrifice himself to save his twin from such a fate.

Sideswipe shook with each step, his body just as tender as his brother's. He couldn't face the idea of having another to do those horrible things to him, cause him such pain and spark deep ache that wouldn't stop. It replayed over and over in a constant stream, haunting his steps as he allowed his brother to guide their destiny. He reached through the bond and found Sunstreaker's gentle presence, soothing and loving though there were phantoms flares of cold emptiness. Sunstreaker was calm. Centered. His strength gave Sideswipe strength. They could get through this. They had survived this long.

The twins made their slow progress to their master's quarters, their bodies aching in places they didn't know they had. When they palmed the door chime, the door slid aside to reveal their masters inner chambers. Very few had been allowed the privilege to see where the master of the house resided. He preferred to take his fill of his slaves out in the main house or in his office. His private chambers were sacred. He feared the taint of the slaves would linger in his quarters, so he rarely allowed any into such a hallow domain.

Sunstreaker lead the way inside, placing himself in front of his twin as he walked to their master. His expression was neutral as he walked the short distance to the master's berth, where he was comfortably laying on pillows, a crystal goblet in his servos.

"What took you?" he demanded, sitting his goblet on a nearby stand. When he shifted, Sunstreaker could see the thick appendage identical to that which ravaged his and his twin's body. He felt something deep within his soul. "Well, never mind. The fact is you are here now."

Sunstreaker refused to take the last step to put him in the master's reach. Sideswipe stood two paces behind Sunstreaker and was sending questioning waves through the bond, unsure to his brother's motives.

Their master looked their bodies up and down, noting the silver stains of the Noble that still tainted their thighs. He smiled, his hand going to his own body and much to the twins shocked horror, that degrading appendage began to stir.

"I have made a decision," the master said, stroking himself into readiness, his optics traveling over the twin frames, though Sideswipe shied behind his twin, unable to make optic contact. "You have provided me with a hefty credit account. So much in fact that I can retire from my current occupation and never be worried about comfort again." His hand stilled its actions. He removed it, using his crooked finger to beckon Sunstreaker toward him. "Now that you have been broken, I can take my fill and never worry about having to share you with any future customers." When Sunstreaker took that last step, their master smiled, his hand slipping between golden legs and finding the exposed valve, tracing the slick entrance that lingered with the faint essence of the Noble.

Sideswipe felt their masters touch and cringed, knowing that he too will be hosting his master within his body soon enough. He felt like crying, staring at Sunstreaker's back as he allowed himself to be drawn toward the mech. He shuddered as he felt the phantom touches of their master on his brother's body.

"Come here," their master said, pulling Sunstreaker forward, his hands going behind the golden mech's knees and directing him to open his legs. He slid forward on the berth, pulling the taut valve toward his spike and lining them up in perfect unison.

"I've waited a long time for this," he said, pulling Sunstreaker down on top of him.

Sunstreaker winced at the sudden rough entry, his newly awakened body finding it difficult to adjust to the rigid girth now stretching him to his limit. He could feel his brother's panic and pain bleeding through the bond, but he didn't hesitate. He allowed his master to claim him, his vents hitching as his body protested the intimate contact after such a brusque and violent first claiming.

Sunstreaker's expression didn't change. He remained emotionless, not caring what was happening to his body. His master hissed, grasping his hips and pulling him flush against him. A low moan escaped the mechs throat as he allowed himself to sample the treat that had been dangled in front of him for so long. His hands steadied the golden hips as he moved within his new conquest, his intimate exploration slow and attentive as his spike sought nodes to exchange a charge.

Their master closed his optics, relishing the sensation of a new valve. His pleasure slaves were nice, their knowledge expanding their horizons and allowing them to versify their pleasure experience. But, there was something about a new, untrained valve that the pleasure slaves could never replicate. He lay back on the berth, simply allowing the tenderness of the moment to envelope him. He smiled when he felt Sunstreaker move, his hand tentatively touching his master's chest and arms, then to his neck and along his jaw. The new pleasure slave may have just been broken but apparently he was a fast learner. Gasps of pleasure floated from the master's vocalizer, giving the young mech the incentive he needed to continue his exploration. If Sunstreaker was going to assume his role as personal pleasure slave, he had to know all the nuances of his master.

Sunstreaker felt his body rise as the mech below him started to thrust up, his hands resting on Sunstreaker's hips and pulling against him in little spastic jerks. As he remained impassive, Sunstreaker's left hand teased along his master's jaw, then to his throat, caressing the cabling and pulsing energon line. With lightening speed, Sunstreaker clamped down on the pulse of life, his fingers digging into the pliable metal mesh.

The master choked and gasped, twisting his head, trying to dislodge the crushing vice like grip, but Sunstreaker was unresponsive. The master's hands left Sunstreaker's hips and grasped at his crushing left hand. Though he didn't need air like an organic, his main processor needed fresh energon to keep it functioning, and Sunstreaker's vice cut the flow. The strength in his hand was enough to crush the master's vocalizer, effectively making him mute.

Sideswipe watched as his brother rose and fell on top of their master in a perfect reenactment of the blue mech's handling of their bodies, and only after minute observation did he notice that their master wasn't emitting the sounds like the blue mech. He moved as if to extricate Sunstreaker from his person. Pedes kicked the air, banged the berth, flailed about, trying to displace the heavy mech off his body.

Sunstreaker centered his weight into his lower body, pinning his master in place. With his right hand he caressed along his master's side, just like a lover would do, before wedging his fingertips beneath the protoform covering and wrenching the metal free. Sideswipe was at his brother's side, speaking in a far away voice, his hand on Sunstreaker's right arm. Their master bucked and kicked, trying to throw off his attacker, but the lack of energon to his processor was starting to cloud his senses. Sunstreaker surged upward with a powerful thrust, and had one been peering inside the room, they would have believed the master was thoroughly enjoying his new pleasure slave. When the last piece of covering was pulled away, Sunstreaker delve his hand inside the internal workings of his lord and master, and with a satisfying clench, his fingertips brushed the spark chamber.

The master's optics went wide, knowing what his pleasure slave was trying to do. His efforts increased, but the lack of energon to his main processor was causing residual failures. His body couldn't understand the mental pulses from the sluggish transponder. Having been deprived of fuel, coding programs began to shut down, unable to function due to the error messages warping their parameters. With feeble whimpers, the master looked imploringly at his attacker, who had remained expressionless during the whole encounter.

Sunstreaker's optics were half lidded, his focus distant as he returned slowly to his own processor. He looked down at the supplicating mech below him and for a brief second, he felt like granting mercy to the desperate, choking gasps of his victim. Then the body below him surged, impaling the thick length further inside his body and reawakening the pain and cold emptiness that had been forged by such a violent, intimate act. And all mercy evaporated.

Sunstreaker's fingers curled around the master's spark chamber, earning a simpering cry as the master felt the intimate brush of death. The master's optics slid in and out of focus, his processor blurring into shades of gold. When he felt the fingers tighten their hold, he emitted a sparkling's chirp of fear. A sound that resembled the noises of his charges not so long ago when he had first purchased them.

Sunstreaker grasped the silver chamber, his processor not even registering how small it was in his grip. With ferocity never displayed before on his calm, innocent features, Sunstreaker snarled in animalistic revenge, squeezing the thin metal and yanking it free from its housing. The body below him buckled like a savage beast defiantly refusing to be tamed but Sunstreaker locked his lower body and held on, his will stronger than the beast now succumbing. The light flickered inside the spark chamber as the last few tendrils of connective fiber kept it anchored to the mechs frame. Sunstreaker sneered at the flickering light, his grip on his master's throat relaxing.

With a strangled, wheezing noise, the masters optics flared, his body pitching forward toward the mech who had ended his existence. The last thing the master saw was the monster he helped create.

The charge of the fading spark warmed Sunstreaker's hand, but he didn't relinquish his hold. With a triumphant look, Sunstreaker crushed the silver cylinder in his hand, feeling the final surge of the mech inside him before his body relaxed into death.

"What… what have you done?" Sideswipe asked in hushed whispers, his venting coming in harsh gasps that sounded as painful as the master's final moments.

"Freed us from this Pit," Sunstreaker said, climbing off the master and grimacing when the now limp body slid from his sore valve. He grabbed a nearby cloth and tossed it to his brother and added, "Clean yourself. We leave this place at the end of cycle."

"Wha.." Sideswipe started, but Sunstreaker snapped, cutting off any further questions.

"Just do it!" Sunstreaker said, wiping down his own plating. He found a few spare datapads and energon, storing them in his limited subspace. "We will remain here until late cycle. Then when everyone else is charging, we slip out, informing the slaves that the master demanded rest. By the time they figure out he is terminated, we should be long gone."

Sideswipe nodded numbly, wincing as he wiped the sensitive areas where the Noble had taken his fill. A sickening screech of twisted metal made him jump, and with wide optics he stared in abject horror as his twin twisted one of the master's arms off.

"What are you doing?" Sideswipe asked, feeling as if his spark was going to fade.

"Taking out the slag," Sunstreaker answered, opening the recycling chute that lead into the lower bowels of the pleasure house. Scrap metals and recyclables were placed down the chute to be taken to the smelter. Sunstreaker tore off the other arm, not perturbed by the dribble of graying energon or the ashen tint of death along the once pristine armor of the lord and master. "Hopefully we can buy some time if they believed he has left to attend other business."

"So you send him to the smelters?" Sideswipe asked, feeling like purging his tank with the callous disregard his twin was showing toward their former master.

"He deserves worse, but I do not have the time," Sunstreaker amended. He nodded toward the berth. "Get some charge. We leave in a few cycles."

Sideswipe climbed up onto the berth, settling against the posh cushion and feeling a very strange sensation. He believed he was to be violated in this very berth, forever chained to it like a slave. And yet, his brother had allowed himself to be taken first, luring their master into a false sense of security before relieving him of his life. Now, the slaves rest on the plush pillows and soft curves and the master pulled apart and sent down to the smelters. Sideswipe felt something deep within his half spark, something that resonated throughout his twin's frame.

Sideswipe wasn't sure, but it felt like… freedom.

"Put this in your subspace," Sunstreaker said, handing a datachip with their masters financial codes. Sunstreaker had found them in his master's subspace pockets. And since the mech would no longer be needing his credits, Sunstreaker thought it only fair they be returned to the mechs who had paid the ultimate price.

"What's this for?" Sideswipe asked, placing a few bottles of paint into his subspace that Sunstreaker handed over.

"We will need to disguise ourselves," Sunstreaker said, pulling off his master's head and sending it down the chute. Sideswipe gagged.

Several minutes passed, Sunstreaker pulling off pieces of their master and sending them down the chute. Sideswipe pointedly turned away and lowered his audios to muffle some of the rending metal.

"What are we going to do?" Sideswipe asked, not daring to glance at his twin.

Sunstreaker removed the limp appendage that had caused all this pain and suffering and tossed it down the chute. "We go east. Somewhere where they don't know us and no one will be looking for us." Sunstreaker pulled the lower half of his master apart, wincing from the jumping sparks and sent the masters pelvis sliding down the darkness. "We will go to Kaon. Maybe find work."

"And if we don't find anything in Kaon?" Sideswipe asked, feeling his tank churn with the sounds his brother was producing with their masters shell.

"Then we go further," Sunstreaker said, hoisting his masters chest into the chute and sending the last trace of the vile mech into oblivion. "We can go to Praxus or Altihex. Either way, we have to leave Iacon."

"I will miss our home," Sideswipe muttered, tucking his chin to his knees and curling on his side.

"This is not our home," Sunstreaker said in his audio. Sideswipe flinched at the close proximity, but didn't shy away when his twin wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. "Our home will be somewhere else. Far away from here."

"Yes, far away," Sideswipe said wistfully, pulling his brothers arms tighter around him. "We will be safe in Kaon."

**00000-OOOO-IIII-00000-OOOOO-IIIIII-000000-OOOOO-IIIIIII**

We write what influences us and I've been taking the bad and the dark and using toward fanfiction. I'm rather pleased with the way this came out, though I do feel extreme sorrow for the twins for enduring such torment.

Sorry this chapter was so long, but after so many short ones, I tried to get it back to my normal standard of 10-15 pages. This one went to 17. (cringes) Sorry.

Oh, and THANK YOU to those who favorite and follow this little series. I just cant believe there's so many folks interested in my drivels. I never thought I'd entertain so many. *faints*


	36. On Primus' Side

**On Primus' Side**

**AN: Well, after the torture I put the twins through last chapter, I decided to reward them. I thought about a brothel but I think I came up with something better. **

**And you all can thank STARLITDAWN for the early upload. All our constant messages really sparked my muse and I thought I'd give the readers a 'happy chapter' after that trauma of twin torture. **

**000-OOOO-IIIII-0000-OOOO-IIII-0000-OOOO-IIII-000-OOOO**

"Hurry!" Sunstreaker hissed, motioning for his twin to join him in the shadows.

"I am!" Sideswipe bit back, his optics darting along the alley before he scrambled across the expanse to join his twin. "If you hadn't stolen that datapad!"

"I thought it was a financial pad," Sunstreaker offered, choosing to keep the stolen pad hidden in his subspace. "I thought we could hack it to get credits."

"Brilliant,' Sideswipe sneered in sarcasm. Sunstreaker glared in evil contempt.

Distant sounds of running pedes echoed into the confines of the alley, and like frightened glitch mice, the twins recoiled further into the shadows though the darkness did little to hide their bright paint scheme. A distinct mech voice called for a search, his lackeys giving the affirmative as they started to distribute and hunt for their thieving prey.

"Not good," Sideswipe breathed, turning and heading to the other end of the alley.

Sunstreaker sighed and followed, his steps just as light as his twins as to not attract unwanted attention. The alley split into two directions and Sideswipe pulled up, looking between the streets to find the best route to escape the Enforcers.

"Which way?" Sideswipe asked himself, looking left then right.

Sunstreaker sidestepped his brother and walked to the center of the parted alleys, his optics and audios on full alert. He pointed down the right alley and muttered, "Enforcers. Four."

"So, left it is," Sideswipe said, turning to run in the direction, but Sunstreaker grasped his arm before he could pass.

"Enforcers that way too," Sunstreaker said, hearing the far away sound of searching pedes.

"So we go…. Up?" Sideswipe said, glancing upward, looking for a ladder or stair case to lead the twins to safety. Unfortunately, there was nothing but smooth, metal walls all around.

"Down," Sunstreaker amended, nodding toward the apex of the alley.

Sideswipe frowned but glanced in the direction his brother indicated and after a few seconds, he could see the outline of a hidden doorway. Local street artists had graffitied the area so heavily; it blended in to its surroundings. It was easily overlooked, and only by Sunstreaker's keen artistic optic was the escape route discovered.

"Let's go!" Sideswipe hissed, hearing the Enforcers coming closer.

The duo slipped around the corner just as Enforcers started to file into the alley. Sideswipe led the way and as they ventured into the lower levels, both twins had to engage their night vision to see properly on the uneven stairs. The stairs went a level below and branched off into a wide square, offering many avenues of escape. Sideswipe turned to grin at his twin, but his spark stopped in his chest when he heard an Enforcer shout for back up because they found an access point to the lower levels.

"Slag," Sideswipe muttered, breaking out into a run, Sunstreaker hot on his pedes.

They ran down the street, ducked in an alley, crossed a busy intersection, then down an adjacent alley. As soon as they turned the corner, both ran into identical obstacles that sent both on the defensive. Sputtering and flailing their arms, the twins disengaged themselves from the flowing metallic material that had been hanging across the alley like a web. Sunstreaker disentangled himself and held up the fine woven metal threads to reveal the sigil of Primus upon the shroud.

As if in sign, there was a roar of orders from Enforcers greeting their sublevel back up members, and for some strange, unfathomable reason, both twins pulled the holy cloaks about their shoulders and drew the hoods upon their heads. Sunstreaker had a hard time keeping the material around his audio fins, the metal mesh making it difficult for him to vent the heat from his body. Both walked in slow measured steps, their heads bowed. Not sure where they were going, they turned back onto the main street and almost knocked over an Enforcer.

"Pardon! Have you seen two thieves?" the Enforcer asked, then sputtered, lowering himself into a bow of reverence. "Forgive my insolence. I had not realized who I was addressing."

The twin bond was flooded with surprise from both twins and with an unsure motion, Sideswipe raised his hand in dismissal. The trio was spared any further awkwardness when another Enforcer knocked on a door on the right. The door opened and a pretty femme, wearing nothing but her protoform answered. All males stared in abject wonder and awestruck delight.

"Excuse me, but have you seen two thieves?" he asked, bowing respectively when he realized his audience.

"There have been no thieves to pass this threshold," she responded in a cultured tone that sent shivers down Sunstreaker's spinal column.

"May we search for the ones that may have taken refuge inside your order?" he asked, rising to full standing height and flexing his body in suggestive male dominance.

"No," the femme answered, unperturbed by the posturing male. "The unanointed may not pass the threshold. Only the holy may enter for this is a place of Primus and his chosen few. We would not have our Order soiled with those who are unclean."

"Understood," the Enforcer said, taking his leave. He knew he wasn't allowed inside the religious orders. Only those chosen by Primus would be allowed to enter and those who intruded could be ordered to termination for sacrilege against their maker.

The femme looked to the other three standing just a few feet away and upon seeing the shrouded duo, she smiled, bowing in respect and opening the door. "The Oracles have been expected, and are most welcome in Primus' domain."

Sideswipe sent a startled pulse through the bond he shared with his twin, but Sunstreaker was already accepting her invitation. By some strange pull, he went willingly into the dark domain of the religious order, Sideswipe following behind to fit in and not arouse suspicion from the Enforcer.

The femme slammed the door shut and motioned down the hall, where a room was glowing in bright colors. Curious, the twins ventured forth, noting the dismal lighting in the hall, the drab, plain walls, and the lack of decorative furniture that usually came with an occupied dwelling. When the twins entered the room at the end, they felt their intakes stall.

The walls, floor, and ceiling were highly polished. An illumination bank offered a glowing respite from the dismal hallway, its light bouncing off the polished metal. There was an orb centered in the room, its glassy surface dark and swirling with grey. Seated around the orb, on cushions plush enough to make a Tower mech envious, were half a dozen femmes. And to the twins shocked delight, they were all bare to their protoforms.

"Femmes!" the escorting femme called, clapping her hands and getting the attention of the assembled females. "Our Oracles have arrived."

There was a general chattering and whispering as the assembled femmes took in the two shrouded forms. They all wore gracious smiles and gazed upon the newcomers with something akin to worship and reverence.

'**Oracles?'** Sunstreaker asked over their bond.

'**Well, it's a job I never considered,'** Sideswipe said, his engine giving a little rev as he took in the general beauty of the adoring female population. **'But a gift from Primus, we most certainly are.'**

Sunstreaker suppressed a snicker as the escorting femme stepped forward, her arms outstretched.

"Please, remove your coverings. They are not needed in the place of Primus," she said, waiting expectantly for the twins to divest themselves of their garments.

Hoping for the best, Sideswipe dropped his hood, Sunstreaker soon to follow. The watching femmes took a collective intake, their optics wide as they stared at the two mechs. With all the will power he possessed, Sideswipe unclasped the cloak and swung it off his shoulders, placing it in the escorting femme's awaiting arms. Sunstreaker's soon joined it.

But the femme's optics were fixed on the two mechs. Not their attire.

"Something wrong?" Sideswipe asked, sending a mental command to his brother to get ready to run if the situation turned vicious. Neither were too fond of hurting a femme, but if any of them started screaming in terror then they would have to make a run for it.

"Forgive my optics," the femme said, pulling her gaze away with reluctance to look at the floor. "It is just the Holy Order has never sent a mech to our establishment before."

"No mechs?" Sunstreaker asked, feeling a strange sensation swell in his spark. It was magnified by Sideswipe, who was fighting gallantly with keeping the knowing smirk off his face.

"Only femmes have ever graced the Order of Primus, Oracles of Prima, who direct our will and give us guidance," she answered, her face still lowered in reverence. "We are humbled an honored by your presence."

Sideswipe couldn't stop the smirk that he sent to his brother before he turned his attention back to the femme. He couldn't prevent the lie from falling so easily from his lip components. "We have come by command of the Holy Order."

"We have been expecting your visitation since our Oracle succumbed to the Devine Wisdom." The femme answered, allowing her gaze to rise once more to show her readiness to comply with the ones sent from their Holy capitol.

'**Devine Wisdom?'** Sideswipe asked through the bond, though he kept his face neutral.

'**Something you will never fall prey to,'** Sunstreaker shot back, his own gaze lingering on the bare femmes kneeling on the ornamental cushions. He could feel his body heat just looking at them.

"Why do you wear such armaments?" the femme asked, her face contorted in curiosity. "You are the chosen of Primus. Surely you are not bothered by those who respect the holy order?"

"We have traveled through rough and unfriendly terrain," Sunstreaker provided. "Not all of Cybertron respect Primus and his chosen Oracles."

"They are not needed here, in this place of sanctuary and worship," the femme said in understanding, glancing to the finely polished ruby and gold armor that adorned the twin frames. "Please, remove your coverings."

Sunstreaker's optic ridge shot up, wondering if he understood the femme correctly, but Sideswipe was already undoing the latches and letting his armor fall to the floor. Sunstreaker reluctantly followed, not sure how he felt about the situation. He didn't like being vulnerable, and being stripped down to ones protoform was as vulnerable as you could get, except revealing your spark. And there was no way in the pit he was going to do that to strangers, femmes or not.

Sunstreaker's modesty evaporated upon seeing the wide, hungry gaze of the femmes as he removed the last piece of golden armor. They stared, transfixed by the two male specimens standing before them, just as bare and vulnerable as themselves. And as natural for all males, both twins had to puff themselves and display their masculinity for their appreciative feminine audience.

As one unit the femmes rose from their cushions and approached the two mechs. Their optics roved over the male forms, paying particular notice to the lower half of their bodies, which vastly differed from their own smooth, feminine wiles.

"Will you allow us to bathe you?" one asked, her optics were clouded with an unknown emotion as she felt her legs tremble.

"Bathe?" Sunstreaker asked. It had been awhile since either twin enjoyed a descent wash, and if these femmes were willing to do the job for them, that was an erotic, and very agreeable invitation.

"You must be properly attended before you may take the High Oracle's position," a femme stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Only when the body is cleaned and purified will one be able to commune with Primus or his chosen vessel**,** Prima."

"Of course," Sideswipe said, offering a charming smile as two femmes grasped his arms and lead him to another room.

Sunstreaker soon followed, though he rankled at having two strangers touch him. He didn't like being vulnerable and he most certainly didn't like the feeling he was put on display like a prized slave up for bids. He had enough of that lifestyle before he slaughtered his 'master' and freed himself and his twin from the vile mech's greedy clutches.

The femmes led the brothers to a shimmering pool, and without invitation, the femmes ventured into the water. The twins couldn't stop the gasp as they felt the warm tingling water sweep across their tense frames. The water felt fantastic, course the company was making it difficult to concentrate on the attributes of the bath.

"Allow us," one femme said, dipping her fingers along the seams of Sideswipe's back and up along his shoulder.

He closed his optics, relishing the feeling of the supple feminine fingers ghosting over his weary body and sending him falling in an abyss of soothing comfort.

Sunstreaker was fairing no better. As soon as the femmes started to caress his body in physical worship, he dropped his guard and allowed them free reign over his body. And though he could feel contentment seeping through the bond with his twin, Sunstreaker's own body was having a different reaction. He groaned, his servos sliding up a femme's delicate curves. She gasped in surprise at the movement, and when Sunstreaker opened his optics, her own questionable gaze greeted his.

"All must be cleansed to commune with Primus," Sunstreaker whispered, and felt his elation double when she nodded in understanding, returning her attention to the delicate caress of his arm and shoulder.

Sunstreaker fought hard not to groan, but the femmes were proving to be very adept at cleaning. When one slipped her hand below the water to massage his spike, he couldn't stop the lust filled groan, nor the pressurizing of his spike in answer. She gasped, staring with wide optics as the strange appendage rose from the water.

"What is that?" she asked, staring unashamed at his spike.

Sideswipe heard his own attending femmes gasp and looked to his twin, grinning at the crowning spike that mirrored his own.

"A blessing from Primus," Sunstreaker muttered, pulling a femme toward him and capturing her mouth in a needy kiss.

She sputtered against him for a moment before relaxing, enjoying the new Oracle's teachings. These lessons were far different than what the female Oracle taught, and by the heating of her body, she knew it was the will of Primus. Her spark faltered, sending her processor into a strange, but very pleasant buzz. She gasped, her fingers digging into the sensitive mesh of his protoform when his hand slipped below the water to caress between her legs.

It was Sunstreaker's turn to gasp. He glanced to his twin and saw the same expression mirrored on his face as he too explored his feminine contingent. Wanting confirmation, Sunstreaker slipped his fingers along the interface panel of another femme on his opposite side and sure enough, both of his attending femmes retained their seals. And by Sideswipe's flooding surprise, his femmes were of the same factory sealed condition.

Sideswipe withdrew his exploration, earning dual looks of confusion, both femmes now panting in open submission. Their optics were clouded into darkness, their bodies awakened to what a male Oracle could provide. They were confused as to why their new spiritual leader was hesitant to bestow such a blessing, and the strange sensations filtering over their bodies, but they knew, deep in their processors, this was just the beginning of the anointment. He glanced over to his twin and bit back a groan, watching as two femmes leaned against Sunstreaker's frame, their optics closed, whimpers escaping, and his servos vigorous beneath the surface of the water. The wide open bond didn't help his constitution any. Sunstreaker was projecting so much lust, Sideswipe nearly overloaded just from the thought.

One of the femmes cried out, falling against Sunstreaker, her body trembling as her legs refused to hold her weight. He cradled her against him, and with deliberate slowness, pulled her with him as he stepped back, the ledge of a seat bumping his knees as he grasped the femme's hips. He sat down, pulling the femme with him, his hands directing her to open her legs as she hovered over him, her face expectant and unsure. He smiled, feeling her innocence caress his spike in unspoken question.

"Blessed be Primus," Sunstreaker whispered, watching as her face morphed into surety.

Without further objection, he lifted her onto his spike, breaking her seal and pulling her flush against him. He hissed as her fingers dug into the sensitive seams of his protoform, a cry escaping her as she felt the full length of his blessing. Their discomfort was eased as femmes started to caress the two, bathing them in the cleansing spring and marking their physical blessing.

Sideswipe couldn't hold back the groan of longing as he felt his brother take the femme. The sensation sent a jolt through his body and out of instinctual programming, he grasped a femme, lifted her into his arms and lowered her onto his own spike. She accepted his motion, watching how the others had began their blessing, and though she was unsure of her role in such traditional ritual the new Oracles bestowed, she allowed her body to accept his blessing.

And the blessing was more than what she anticipated. She cried out, her voice taken from her as the Oracle sealed their lips together, his generosity extending to take her pain and replace it with a strange sensation of pleasure and heat as he inhabited her body, touching her core and igniting something deep inside.

"Blessed be Primus," Sideswipe muttered his brother's words, giving in to the physical sensation and knowing that all of the attending femmes were more than willing to accept the offering of their new Oracles.

The two Oracles shouted just as much praise and adulation as the willing femmes, each eager to accept the blessing offered by their male counterparts.

For the first time in the femmes existence, Primus was sought and seen, his named screamed to the heavens by every femme of the Holy Order. Many, _many_ times.

**000-OOOO-IIIII-0000-OOOO-IIII-0000-OOOO-IIII-000-OOOO**

**AN: **Lucky bitches. LOL

HUGE THANK YOU TO ALL REVIEWERS!

I'm hoping to get back on the creative horse and having another chapter ready soon. Reviews fuel the muse so set the bitch on fire!


	37. Paint Streaks

PAINT STREAKS

**AN: The avatar was approved and provided by Blitz-Krazi. I'm just in absolute AWE that someone would create such a wonderful piece of art for me. I have no artistic talent and I'm just in awe *and jealous* of those who can put thought to paper. THANK YOU SO MUCH! *massive hugs and tears of joy***

**So, in honor of the story's new picture, ya'll get an update quicker than normal. ;)**

**AN2:** As always, I don't know where this came from and I take no responsibility to how it's read and the possible consequences.

I just write what the twins say and what I witness.

All parties are innocent until blackmail payments have been made.

**00000-III-OOO-0III-0000-OOOO-IIII-000-OOO-IIIIII**

*Poke*

"Stop."

*Poke* *Poke*

"Touch me again, you die."

"You sound just like that first femme we fell for."

"Looking back…." Sunstreaker sighed, his gaze shifting to the distant past. "We could have done better."

"Always."

Sideswipe shifted on the edge of his berth that was situated right next to his twins. They were in an isolation ward in Polyhex. Their convoy was attacked on the way back to Iacon and as they scrambled for cover, Sunstreaker took a hit and the twins woke up in the dull orange drab of a med bay. Though judging by the soot and cracked foundations, it wasn't in common use.

*Poke*

_**CLANG!**_

Sideswipe went sailing off his berth and landed flat on his back, his dazed optics barely perceiving the mocking orange ceiling. His focus shifted to the white blob that indicated Ratchet's return to the isolation ward. A sparkling like chirp came from Sideswipe's vocalizer, the circuits trying to recalibrate after Sunstreaker's strike.

Ratchet's face was impassive, a first for him.

"Idiot," Ratchet said, ignoring the infantile chirps and going to his true patient. "How do you feel?"

"I'll slagging kill you for this!" Sunstreaker growled, bristling though his frame did little to intimidate.

"Doubt it," Ratchet muttered, unfazed by the murderous stare.

"What were you thinking?" Sunstreaker screamed. The noise brought Sideswipe back to awareness and on his pedes in an instant, though he swayed slightly from the disorientation. He sat down on his berth with a groan.

"I was trying to save your aft!" Ratchet snarled back.

"Next time, DON'T!" Sunstreaker snapped, earning a thrum of anger from his twin. Sunstreaker sputtered, not used to being on the receiving end of such hateful, negative emotions. He was usually the one projecting them. Of course, he was usually in his own frame and not inhabiting the sleek, sexy curves of a very attractive femme. He was used to rough and tumble attitudes, fearful looks, and intimidating physically and having a scary reputation. His voice could move troops and his dark scowl could make the most seasoned of warrior wet themselves with oil. His very presence was enough to put everyone in the vicinity on guard in case his notorious temper flared to life. Not to mention his usual body was honed, polished, flawlessly designed and carried with a deity's grace. His voice was deep and commanding. His hands strong and formidable, his interfacing ability, the thing of legends.

Now he had a feminine lilt, petite stature, curves in the wrong (or right) places and his (her) limbs paled to his usual strength. And no matter how hard he tried, he lacked the physical presence to intimidate.

And Sideswipe wouldn't stop **staring**.

And the inclination Sideswipe was naturally having to the feminine frame was bleeding through the bond, despite his best efforts to control it.

So now, Sunstreaker also wanted to seduce _himself_.

Slagging great. Why couldn't Ratchet just let the stray mortar rocket hit him and extinguish his spark?

A hurt feeling accompanied that thought. He gave his brother an apologetic look that was shook off with an aggravated growl. Blast! He was only in this frame for a few waking moments and he was already going** soft**!

"Next time, I'll shoot you myself!" Ratchet snapped with a serious face, but anyone who knew him well enough could understand the tense posture in his frame. He hated to lose patients. And he most certainly wasn't going to lose his favorite pair. It was only by quick thinking that he had thought to transfer Sunstreaker's spark and processor into the femme frame uncovered at the vacated medical facility they were using as shelter until reinforcements could arrive. Someone either didn't survive to receive their upgrade, or circumstances forced them to leave the shell behind. Either way, Ratchet, and Sunstreaker, was lucky.

Sunstreaker's golden body was in the corner of the impromptu isolation ward. Spark transference is risky business and requires a sterile environment. Ratchet had to improvise. It was no where near the perfection he upheld in his normal medbay back at Iacon, but it had served its purpose. Sunstreaker had survived the transfer, an angsty Sideswipe standing by in case he was needed to merge with his twin to filter and stabilize his unsteady spark.

When Sunstreaker first woke up and saw his battered, lifeless shell, a thin curl of smoke was still escaping from the blasted hole in his chest so near his spark chamber, he thought he had terminated and was now haunting his old body. Then he jolted upright at sensing his twin's presence nearby. When he sat up on the berth, a flash of lust from his brother assaulted his spark before quelling into general attraction. And when Sunstreaker looked at the body that responded to his mental command, he paused. Where golden plating used to reside, he was now adorned in a pale lavender shade, with black accents that showed off the gentle curves of his legs, slender waist, and a protrusion on his chest that most certainly_ wasn't_ there when he woke up earlier that day.

Ratchet glared, his armor puffing in a display of superiority. He knew he was stronger than Sunstreaker right now. Ratchet was mean, and could hold his own in the medical ward, often subduing mechs twice his size. But he could never match Sunstreaker for strength, agility, or fighting style. Now he could easily dominate the femme frame, his burly physique more than capable of subduing the unruly front liner.

Sunstreaker pouted, not liking the fact that he lacked his usual intimidation. Ratchet could take him now. And though they had come to blows many times, Ratchet could now put up a serious fight against anything Sunstreaker could throw at him. Ratchet was also the only one who could remedy the situation, so terminating him wasn't on the agenda. No matter how much Sunstreaker entertained the idea.

If Sunstreaker wanted his usual tough, strong, sexy mech frame back, he had to admit defeat. That was something that left a bitter taste in his oral cavity.

Slag.

Sunstreaker pulled himself to his full, and disappointing height, barely reaching Ratchet's chin with his helm.

"Get me back into my body," Sunstreaker snarled with as much vehemence the femme frame could produce, optics narrowing in anger. "Or else!"

Ratchet paused in his rebuttal, taking a half step back. Sunstreaker may be inhabiting a femme body, but there were some looks that all males knew, regardless of species. How Sunstreaker managed to pull it off stunned and terrified Ratchet at the same time.

Another lustful wave nudged his spark and with annoyed optics, he redirected his laser-like glare to his twin.

"Would you knock that off?" Sunstreaker snapped.

Sideswipe leaned against the makeshift berth he had charged on while Sunstreaker underwent the delicate and dangerous transference process. He offered a lopsided, cheesy grin before adding, "Sorry,_ babe_."

Sunstreaker may have been in a different frame, but he was still fast. And the lighter alloy of the femme frame gave him a surprise of added speed and agility. He clipped his brother upside the helm and sent him sprawling once again.

"You're disgusting," Sunstreaker growled.

Sideswipe sat on the floor, rubbing the side of his helm and shrugging in acceptance. It **was** _weird_. But the twins thrived on the strange and chaotic.

"If you two have finished?" Ratchet asked in exasperation. When dual looks of mulish affirmation greeted his searching gaze, Ratchet continued. "I don't know how well that frame can adapt to your unique situation. So until I can get your old frame back to my medbay and repaired, I want to keep you in isolation."

"Keep your delicate features away from unsavory savages," Sideswipe grinned, regaining his pedes but keeping a safe distance from his brother, turned sister, lightening fast retribution. Primus. He didn't know Sunstreaker could move so fast. The lighter alloys made a lot of difference. Course, the pale lavender armor couldn't withstand being on the front line. One shot and it would melt into slag. You gained speed and mobility with the thinner alloys, but lost a considerable degree of protection.

"No," Ratchet said, then amended, "Well, in part, yes."

Sunstreaker's dark purple gaze bore into Ratchet's own pale blue, causing the medic to stall. He felt his systems heat with the look of soft feminine curves and the color was very flattering to the petite frame. Ratchet jolted himself, remembering it was _Sunstreaker_ in the frame and not a willing, available femme.

**That** sobered his libido.

"The reason I want you two in here is because I'm not sure how that femme processor will handle a mechs mentality. Not to mention your spark and the spark chamber specifications for that frame are barely within stable matching parameters. Your spark could destabilize despite my best efforts, and I wouldn't put it past you to be so spiteful **to** terminate right when I thought I saved you."

The frame may have been different, but Sunstreaker's customary sneer entrenched itself on the delicate, feminine face.

Any further verbal sparring was cut short when shouts echoed outside the room.

"We've been discovered!"

"Incoming!"

"Missiles incoming! Brace for impact!"

"Where the slag is Ratchet?"

Ratchet darted out of the room, leaving the twins alone to stare in horror and disgrace as they were forced to remain hidden for protection. It rankled both of them to be so vulnerable and helpless. Their jobs required them to be on the front lines. And here they both were holed up in an isolation ward with an empty shell for company, the soundtrack of their friends engaging the enemy in the distance.

The building rocked on its foundations, causing a large crack to form over the isolation ward. Sideswipe sent a pang of worry through the bond, knowing that if the roof fell, there was a chance the femme frame wouldn't survive the destruction. Femme bodies weren't meant to withstand a building collapsing on them. Sunstreaker glanced to his inert golden shell, worrying etching his features. Weapons fire erupted outside and a high pitched whistling soon followed.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe exchanged a look. They had been on the front lines long enough to recognize the sound. Another missile was incoming. Sideswipe jumped toward his twin to protect the smaller frame, but Sunstreaker had already leapt to the side, landing over his old shell in protection. If it received any more damage, he would be stuck in the feminine body, and that wasn't a prospect he found enthralling. Sideswipe scrambled the short distance to his brother, just as the impact hit the side of the building. There was a dull roaring, followed by a loud thunderous clap, before the structure started to groan. Sunstreaker flung the femme body across his golden chest, protecting the gaping hole to prevent further injury. Sideswipe pressed his body over the lavender frame and prayed to Primus the building wouldn't fall on them.

Primus smiled on the duo, as the building gave an ominous creak, but remained upright. Shouts outside signaled that backup had arrived, and with the booming thunder of cannons, only Ironhide could be leading the charge. Both twins sighed in relief, relaxing slightly and waited for the signal to evacuate the temporary stronghold.

Sideswipe snickered, his chest causing Sunstreaker's lavender back to jostle as they separated a little since the danger was passed.

"What's so funny?" Sunstreaker asked, knowing the giddy feeling in his spark wasn't going to mean something good coming from his brother's vocalizer.

"I always imagined a scene like this," Sideswipe snickered, bracing his hands on either side of his brother's lifeless golden shell and new lavender body.

Sunstreaker groaned, not disappointed by his brother's idiocy.

"Femme between us," Sideswipe added, feeling his systems heat with the thought. It didn't help the feminine curves were very close to his main sensors, and the heat radiating off the body was registering all kinds of wonderful things to his circuits.

Sunstreaker could sense the heating frame, though the sensations were dulled because of the imbalance in his borrowed frame. The happy pangs in his spark were giving mixed signals, and Sunstreaker growled. He turned his dark purple optics to his brother and jerked his head toward his inert golden form.

"You dreamt of facing a femme with my _empty_ shell?" Sunstreaker asked.

Sideswipe's cheeky look disappeared. He forgot how close he came to losing his brother. He frowned, looking perturbed and ducked his head, pressing his forehead against Sunstreaker's.

"Never," Sideswipe whispered. "You terminate, I follow. That's just how it goes."

Sunstreaker allowed the close proximity, knowing his twin was just as terrified as he was. If his former body was damaged and he had to reside in the femme frame, things could go bad. Sunstreaker sighed, resting his helm against his twins, feeling the syncopated pulse of their unified sparks. It didn't matter the frame. They were still brothers. Bound together through fate. Sunstreaker expelled a heavy ex-vent, withdrawing from his twins affection so no one would walk in and get the wrong idea. The idea was made worse when Sideswipe offered his signature mischievous grin before planting a kiss on Sunstreaker's cheek.

With a snarl, Sunstreaker drew back his tiny fist and threw all his weight behind the punch. His fist landed squarely on his brother's interface panel, sending vibrating shockwaves through his body and destabilizing some very sensitive, and partly primed, circuits.

Sideswipe let out a howl, grasping his interface panel in pain and toppling sideways as the pain disrupted his senses.

"Fragger," Sunstreaker snapped, drawing his fist back and looking at the smaller knuckles for signs of damage. He smirked, seeing the pristine metal gleaming back as if mocking his twin's pain.

Ratchet came running in, not perturbed by a groaning Sideswipe and triumphant lavender Sunstreaker, and motioned to the empty golden shell.

"The transport trailer is fixed," Ratchet said, nodding to the golden frame. His left arm sported a few holes and soot, obviously damage taken during the squirmish. It hung limp at his side. "Get Sunstreaker's body into the trailer and both of you keep it safe."

"Right," Sunstreaker said, going to Ratchet and turning to look over his shoulder at his still moaning twin. "Get my frame."

"Why can't you do it?" Sideswipe asked through gritted lip components. He flexed his legs, trying to ward off the residual sting that burned his neural relays like liquid fire.

"You're a mech. _**You **_do it," Sunstreaker offered as response, placing hands on hips and looking like a put out female about to break loose on an idiotic male.

"Fragger," Sideswipe spat, gaining his feet and pulling the lifeless form into his arms, mindful of the gaping hole in the golden chest. He followed the duo out of the isolation ward, wincing as he walked.

As Autobots tended to the wounded and checked weapons, shouting orders and surveying hiding places for potential enemies, Sideswipe looked to the inert form in his arms. He felt his spark clench, threatening to still altogether. He was used to that golden frame fighting by his side and threatening him with all manner of repercussions if he got scratched. He wasn't used to seeing Sunstreaker so silent and lifeless. The normal thrum of a spark didn't answer from the shell held in his arms. The systems were cold, the armor slightly grey around the edges from lack of energon flow. The shell was simply a busted, hollow vessel where his brother once inhabited. The charred hole in the middle of the golden chest brought reality crashing down on Sideswipe, who felt his fuel pump falter along with his step. He came so close to losing his twin.

As if in answer, there came a soothing, gentle presence in his spark and mind. The beat of life in his chest called to its other half, and rejoiced when it was answered, creating a symphony in their souls.

Sideswipe squared his shoulders and proudly carried his brother's frame to the awaiting medical transport, where soldiers were filing in various states of distress. Sunstreaker lead the way to the transport and when he rounded the corner, he ran into the black and white form of Prowl.

Prowl blinked at the strange lavender femme being followed by Sideswipe, carrying the limp body of his twin.

"Prowl," Sunstreaker said in a soft, feminine voice that gained the instant attention of all mechs in the vicinity.

Jazz was overseeing the evacuation of refugees, his Special Ops agents stationed around the perimeter and offering cover. He stopped talking and looked behind him upon hearing the feminine tones. A startled beep escaped before he could stop himself. With wide smile and friendly swagger, Jazz strode forward, throwing all his charm into his cultured voice.

"Hello," he said, coming to stand next to his best friend and puffing his armor slightly in macho superiority.

"Shove it, Jazz," the lavender femme snarled, stalking into the trailer without a backward glance.

Stunned, Jazz saw Sideswipe carrying Sunstreaker's lifeless shell. But instead of looking devastated, Sideswipe smirked and walked up to the senior officers.

"Don't frag him off," Sideswipe said, still having some difficulty in walking. "Trust me. It hurts like the Pit."

Jazz noticed the front liner's limp and with a surprised noise shared by Prowl, both noticed the lavender paint embedded in the deep dent in the dead center of Sideswipe's interface panel. Both mechs cringed, Prowl more subtle than Jazz. When Sideswipe disappeared inside the transport, the two senior officers exchanged looks.

"Who was that?" Jazz asked.

"Sunstreaker was transferred to an empty shell until his body can be repaired," Prowl reported, having received Ratchet's report as soon as they made secured contact.

Jazz gasped, glancing at the spot where Sideswipe had disappeared into the transport carrying Sunstreaker's deadened frame.

"Primus," Jazz muttered. Prowl nodded in agreement.

"We will have to keep the twins separated from the other soldiers until Sunstreaker can be transferred back into his old frame,' Prowl said.

"Yeah, with Sunny's attitude, he's likely to terminate any mech who puts the moves on him," Jazz said, suddenly feeling very cold.

"I'm surprised he spared_ you_," Prowl smirked before returning to his duty of overseeing the soldier placement.

Jazz stood open mouthed at the joke and its implication.

**00000-III-OOO-0III-0000-OOOO-IIII-000-OOO-IIIIII**

**Reviews would be loved! I can't believe I'm almost at 350! *shocked face before faint***

**I honestly NEVER thought the tally would get THAT high! its amazing! YOU guys are amazing! **

**And THANK YOU AGAIN Blitzie for the art!**


	38. Dual Side Effects

**DUAL SIDE EFFECTS**

Requested by **Starfire201**.

**HUGE THANK YOU TO ALL REVIEWERS!** You've really helped poke the muse into getting her butt in gear to finish this chapter. Now if only she would stay consistent and focus on the other chapters I want to work on….

Oh, and before I forget, THANK YOU to all those who fav the story! Don't be shy! Let me know what you like or didn't (or found wrong). I'd love to hear from ya!

**0000-OOOO-IIII-00000-IIIII-OOOOOO-00000-IOIIIII-OOOO-00000**

"You're not going to win, Sides," Smokescreen taunted, saluting his opponent with his glass before downing the shot.

Sideswipe grinned, rubbing his midsection in answer. "I have the perfect remedy to your scrap iron tank."

"I doubt it," Smokescreen added, knowing that Sideswipe had yet to win a drinking game against the seasoned Praxian.

Sideswipe took his shot, giving his best award winning smile to his counterpart and sat the glass down for the next shot.

"You're going down, Smokey," he promised, optics glinting in mischief that didn't bode well for the Praxian.

Smokescreen wasn't going to be deterred. He had planned the game out perfectly. He knew his absorption rate and sideswipes, due to previous games, and had calculated when Sideswipe would succumb to his overcharge. The Red Lamborghini had done it so many times in the past, it was a wonder still tried to beat Smokescreen.

It started out as a friendly drinking game that quickly morphed into a drunken rivalry of legendary proportion. Sideswipe worked on his remedies, challenged Smokescreen to a drinking contest, and by almost the same time every game, Sideswipe collapsed with overcharge. His remedies were infamous, and he never stopped trying to perfect his 'cure.' It became a game that every time Sideswipe passed out, Smokescreen would write on him. It had started out with a simple, "I WIN" on his chassis that escalated into obscene and sometimes twisted parodies of friendship. When Sideswipe became intoxicated, he became an easy target. And if he pissed off Smokescreen for any particular prank or battle field miscalculation, Smokescreen took out on the ruby hide, one insult after another.

Well, Sideswipe had had enough.

His losing streak was now at an end. He had been brewing some special high grade, testing its affects and counter affects with his newest batch of remedies when he made a grand discovery. He planned on putting that discovery to use tonight. And win his first ever drinking game against Smokescreen.

Sunstreaker set down the new shots, removing the empty glasses and going to the large dispenser the twins had set up for the party. Everyone was enjoying themselves, Prowl having sequestrated himself in his quarters to avoid the crowds as usual. So the illegal high grade flowed freely. Jazz had the party in full swing, dancing his spark out on the dance floor and shaking his aft like no tomorrow. The other mechs were getting into the party as well, most opting for a little shot of the high potency energon. Just a few sips and they could feel their circuits tingling. The twins had outdone themselves this time. They were pests but they were also master brewers. They could take anything and make it into a liquid to get overcharged on. Sideswipe's best concoction was derived from a specially processed crude oil, some electrical charge 'borrowed' from the human power grid and his secret ingredient, a bottle of Pepto Bismol.

The mechs still hadn't figured it out.

"Why am I here again?" Sunstreaker asked, bringing over a dozen more shots and setting the tray down in front of the two alcoholic combatants.

"To ensure we get the same amount of the same stuff," Sideswipe said.

Smokescreen nodded, remembering Sideswipe had tried the 'diluted energon' tactic before. "So no one cheats and uses a lower grade."

"I'm not a mediator," Sunstreaker muttered.

"Yes you are," Sideswipe, gave his brother a grin as he took a shot that mirrored Smokescreen.

"I'm only doing this because you promised me that I would have some 'Sideswipe free' time to try that new medium," Sunstreaker said, noting his brother's optics were already showing a higher charge. He looked to Smokescreen and noted that he too bore the signs of charged circuits.

"You're acting like a couple of foolish sots." Sunstreaker said, perturbed by the giddy feeling filtering through their shared bond like rain trickling over armor. "What do you get out this?"

"My dignity," Sideswipe answered, feeling the charge wash over his system and ignite his circuits.

"Oh… you don't have enough credits to _pay_ for that.' Sunstreaker deadpanned, counting off the internal timer and setting up the next shots for the drinking duo.

"Which is why I'm drinking to regain it.' Sideswipe answered without looking at his twin. His optics was focused on Smokescreen, watching as the charge circulated through his systems.

"Dear brother, you have it backwards." Sunstreaker sighed. He honestly didn't understand how someone would drink themselves into such a stupor, complete with nasty side effects, and be anxious to perform the procedure over again. With fervor.

"Shut up." Sideswipe snapped, gracing his brother with an annoyed look. The high grade was filtering through his system at an accelerated rate. He could feel the buzz already tingling along his spinal strut.

Sunstreaker offered a defensive growl, slamming the two glasses in front of the dueling drunks, his optics dark and glaring at his twin.

Sideswipe ignored his twin and matched Smokescreen for the shot and downed his glass. Both mechs hiccupped, though Sideswipe's was a bit more pronounced. His entire chassis seemed to expand then collapse in on itself. The charge was packing quite the wallop.

Sunstreaker kept up a constant stream of complaints, sounding more and more like Gears. The room slowly emptied out, most bots going to sleep it off before their next shift. Jazz tottered on unsteady pedes toward the door. Sunstreaker broke his verbal litany to direct the dizzy mech toward Prowl's quarters, to which Jazz gave a drunken chirp and staggered out the door. He collided with the bulkhead a few paces away, his electronic snores filling the hall. Sunstreaker sighed, knowing he missed out on another good jibe at the SIC's expense. He really enjoyed sending Jazz on these suicide missions. His attention was drawn to the two dueling mechs at the table, both wafting the scent of overcharge.

Sideswipe and Smokescreen were almost nose to nose, slowing reciting the Cybertronian alphabet. Sunstreaker listened to their jumbled stream and realized that both were missing the same letters in the same sequence. He stared at his twin, wondering if he had synced a cable with the Praxian and they were reading each others minds. It was freaky.

As Smokescreen was distracted by Sideswipe, Sunstreaker set up the next round, his hand brushing his twins in an unspoken message.

Sideswipe hiccupped but grinned at Smokescreen, who returned the pleasantly hostile expression. Both took their shots and recited an ancient ballad that Ironhide had taught the crew when they first joined. The rhymes were complicated and easily confused, the stanzas just as elaborate as any musical composition. Very few mastered the art of repeating it while intoxicated. The entire body of the ballad was almost one hundred paragraphs, and by the time the duo got the end, repeating several phrases over and over like a broken record, four more shots had been ingested.

Sideswipe sneered at Smokescreen's bright optics, and before the frontliner knew what was happening, the Praxian had face planted onto the table. Sideswipe whooped, slapping the table and spilling the shots Sunstreaker had just presented.

"Bout time," Sunstreaker said, eyeing the unconscious form with distaste. "I thought it would never work."

Sideswipe gave a bleary hiccup before turning and purging his tanks. After several minutes he stopped, wiping his face and looking at his disgusted twin.

"Better," he said, trying and failing to look cool after his purge.

"Whatever," Sunstreaker said returning the shots to the dispenser. It was nearly empty.

When he turned, Sideswipe was standing on unsteady pedes, holding onto the table for support. It was going to take him some time to throw off the extra charge that lingered from the absorbed high grade. Sunstreaker went to his twin's side, looking into bright, but still cognizant and mischievous, optics.

"Why do I let you talk me into these things?" he asked holding out his arms to steady his twin.

"Because you love me and know I'm a genius," Sideswipe offered, overbalancing slightly before finding security in his brother's embrace. He let out a little chuckle and whispered in Sunstreaker's audio, "This is going to be awesome."

Sunstreaker offered a muffled snort in answer.

Smokescreen awoke to a strange sensation. He was lying on his side with two warm bodies pressed against his front and back. One warm body he may have agreed to. Being drunk off his aft had lowered his resistance to cheap moves and some bots were notorious. But_ two_ bodies?

He opened bleary optics to see Sideswipe's serene face staring back. He let out a startled beep, jolting from his position and felt arms tighten around his middle, preventing escape. A face nuzzled between his door wings, and he'd be slagged if the other bot didn't know exactly how to stimulate to send pleasurable ripples across his sensor net. He gave a shudder against his will, feeling a hot exvent along the sensors and a deep growl that reverberated from the chest pressed against his back into his own chassis. The vibration was pleasantly deep, feeling as if his soul was being called from some unknown depths. A tentative hand brushed against his cheek gaining his attention. Sideswipe's face loomed close, his optics glazed in a dreamy expression, a soft smile highlighting his face. His voice was soft when he spoke.

"Did you mean it?" he asked his fingers tracing over Smokescreen's still open lip components.

"Mean… mean what?" Smoke asked, feeling the nuzzling face plant a kiss on a sensor that instantly sent his internal temp skyrocketing.

Oh blast.

Realization hit like Omega Supreme's fist. If Sideswipe was in front, then it could only be Sunstreaker behind. It wasn't very smart to turn your back on such a volatile and dangerous mech. And he was currently nuzzling between Smokescreen's doorwings in a familiar and _oh so achingly_ sweet way that had the Praxian shivering despite himself. It was rare to find someone who knew how to manipulate door wings to the best possible stimulation. His attention was torn from his trembling door wings to Sideswipe's genuinely bashful face.

"That you love me," Sideswipe said, his head canting aside as if ashamed to admit hearing such words of endearment.

"Love?" Smokescreen squeaked, his body going stiff, and not from the possessive embrace around his waist. "What do you mean…_ love_?"

Sideswipe leaned forward, brushing his olfactory sensor against Smokescreen's own before muttering in a gentle tone, "You said that you loved me."

"I did?" Smokescreen asked, finding his body trembling in abject fear. The arms tightened around him, Sunstreaker's grumbling chassis sending tortuous messages across his sensor array.

Fingers traced Smokescreen still gaping lip components as Sideswipe whispered, "Do you really mean it?"

Smokescreen pushed away from Sideswipe, his fuel pump going at maximum output. When a cool sensation passed across his lower regions, he glanced down. and found his interface panel open. The sight made him scramble up on the berth, staring at the offending, yet explanatory, panel. Sunstreaker relented his place between the door wings and relaxed back on the berth, staring up to the Praxian with half lidded optics.

"What's wrong?" Sunstreaker asked in a soft and lazy voice. His hand stroked along his abdominal plating and thighs.

Smokescreen's optics followed the talented fingers and felt his tanks clench. There were blue transfer streaks along Sunstreaker's body. Transfer marks that only came with vigorous interfacing. He looked to Sideswipe and noted that he too bore the blue of interface scratches.

"What happened last night?" Smokescreen asked, noting the silver stains that accented his interface panels. There were also trace amounts of red and gold in numerous streaks along his midsection and thighs. He had a sinking feeling of what happened. He just wanted verbal confirmation.

**Then **he'd go jump in the volcano.

"I won our game," Sideswipe said, rising to sit on the berth. He made a show of closing his interface panel, the glimmer of silver faint upon his person. "When we were helping you to your quarters, you said you have always loved me and wanted to interface."

"I… I did?" Smokescreen asked, combing through his memory banks and finding nothing but blank static.

"You were so sincere," Sideswipe said, kneeling on the berth, his hand going to caress Smokescreen's cheek in an affectionate way. "I couldn't resist. And…" Sideswipe's facial plates heated, as he turned with bashful optics. "I think I love you too."

"It's not often we find someone who accepts both of us," Sunstreaker said, rising up and stroking a door wing, causing it to tremble. He flooded the bond with intense amusement.

"Love?" Smokescreen yelped, jumping off the berth, his doorwings twitching. "I wasn't in control. You can't believe everything I say. I didn't mean… I..I mean to say, I …."

"What are saying?" Sideswipe asked, his optics narrowing into a stricken frown. "That you _don't_ love me?"

"I had too much to drink," Smokescreen said, trying to interject remorse and shame into his voice. "I was drunk and I took advantage of you while in a compromised situation." He tried to turn the blame onto himself, hoping to survive the wrath of the twins. How he survived interfacing with them, he'd never know. He just wanted to get out, get to his quarters unscathed, and scrub his body clean. Of course, there was the fact he'd never be able to delete waking up to Sideswipe's tranquil face, his soft voice as he asked for confirmation for a love that he had apparently wanted and reciprocated. A love that Smokescreen didn't have, didn't want, and couldn't remember.

Primus, how did he get into such a situation?

"You … took… advantage…?" Sideswipe asked, his optics going wide in realization. He looked like a kicked turbo puppy. Bluestreak had nothing on Sideswipe

Smokescreen felt guilt and shame take over his processor.

"When I'm under the influence, it affects my judgment. I'm sorry. I don't wish to lead you on and give you a false sense that I had intended on cultivating such a relationship when in fact I was too drunk to know **what** was happening and I shouldn't cause further harm by pretending that I was coherent . You deserve the truth and you deserve to be treated with respect. Two things that I fear I have failed to provide."

"You lied to me?" Sideswipe asked, his voice harsh, static making the timber pitch and waver. "You only told me you loved me to get me in the berth?"

"I …I was drunk… and…" Smokescreen tried again, feeling more and more guilt ridden.

"You used me," Sideswipe said, his voice stricken. His optics filled with shame as he turned them away from the sputtering Praxian.

"And me," Sunstreaker said, rising from the berth to square off against the apparent transgressor.

"No!" Smokescreen snapped hastily. "No! I never meant any of this to happen. I didn't want to hurt either of you but I fear that while I was too intoxicated to be coherent, I have said," Smokescreen looked to the pearly silver that highlighted all three of their interface panels, "And done, things that make me ashamed of myself."

"You're _ashamed_?" Sideswipe asked, his vents hitching. "You face us. Tell me that you love me and when I admit that I've fallen for you, you tell me it was all a _lie_? That you don't remember what we shared?!"

Smokescreen looked to his interface panel, mind reeling. He honestly couldn't remember what happened. The last fleeting image that was in his processor was of Sideswipe's face mere inches from his own, reciting a ballad that Ironhide had taught and…. Oh. A_ love _ballad.

"I'm sorry,' Smokescreen admitted, door wings drooping in defeat. "I was drunk. I know that is not an excuse but while my circuits were so overcharged, I have led you on. For that, I am sorry." He looked to Sideswipe, then to Sunstreaker, both of whom were staring daggers at him. "I can't remember what happened, but I assure you, I had no intentions of causing either of you such grief."

"Get out!" Sunstreaker shouted, his fists curling at his side

Smokescreen didn't need telling twice. With one last sorrowful expression, he darted from the room. When the door shut Sunstreaker looked to his brother and smiled.

"You were good," Sunstreaker said.

Sideswipe swung his legs over the edge of the berth, his expression cheerful. "Throw me a chamois."

Sunstreaker grabbed a cleaning cloth from the ample pile and tossed it to his twin, his expression matching his brothers. Sideswipe stared with appreciative optics to the marks on his body, his hand hovering as if reluctant to remove them. His engine gave a rev.

"You're incorrigible." Sunstreaker said as he noted Sideswipe's reaction.

Sideswipe offered a partial shrug. "I'm tired of always losing to that fragger. Just thought I'd give him a reason to pause the next time he wants to brag about all the times he's beaten me and how he's _'so good'_."

"You're diabolical," Sunstreaker said, grabbing a cloth and wiping down his plating.

Sideswipe grinned, nodding toward the disappearing silver stains on both their interface panels. "You were the one who thought of acrylic paint."

"Like I'd want to face that," Sunstreaker said with a jerk of his helm toward the door where Smokescreen had disappeared.

"Think he'll figure out we never faced?" Sideswipe asked, easily erasing the painted streaks of false interface.

"Eventually." Sunstreaker said, thankful that his artistic talents could provide such dastardly and conniving entertainment.

Sideswipe sent a questionable look to his twin, their bond wide open and allowing both to bask in the pleasure of a prank well executed.

Sunstreaker preened, giving his brother his most handsome and devilish look before adding, "No one forgets having a Lamborghini."

**000-OOOO-IIIII-000000-IOOOOOO-IIIIIIII-0000000-OOOOOO**

***Author shakes head and wanders off***

***calls from distance* Reviews would be loved and bitchslaps the muse. **


	39. Silence of the Sun

AN1: Oh my gosh! *author faints* Holy frozen bad guys! I cant believe how many reviews the last chapter got! I'm just…. *faints again*

*author is unable to express her gratitude and utmost adoration toward the unlimited outpouring of favs, messages, encouragement, and warm fuzzy feelings expressed by readers*

An2: I noticed that comedy tends to get the most responses. Why is that? Did I miss something in the angst department or was something wrong that I didn't catch? I want to expand my horizons and expound upon all avenues. Do you think I should do a little quickie that's more 'cerebral' or do the twins demand I keep the comedy alive? I don't know. I'm conflicted. There's SOOOO much I want to explore but I think I'm missing something. If someone figures it out, please let me know. I honestly don't want to concentrate on only one genre and want to encompass every nuance of the twins' lives. They don't like it, but I snoop through their room to find info… don't ask about the car mags and motor oil. *blanches*

**0000-ooooo-IIIIII-0000-OOOOO-III-000-OOOOOOO**

The party was in full swing when Sunstreaker entered the rec room. Mechs lingered in groups, talking, singing, and even a few were trying to have an argument, though they kept losing their train of thought and remedying the situation with another drink. It was a typical evening on the ARK.

Sunstreaker went to the dispensary and filled a cube, ignoring the general chatter around him. He didn't like groups, or loud noises. Only necessity had forced him to brave coming into the common room while everyone was amicable after hours. The twins only kept high grade stored in their room, and not needing an overcharge with an early morning shift the next day, he opted for regular grade. He wanted to get his ration and go back to the silent solitude of his quarters. But his golden paint shone like a star, and captured his twins' attention.

"Sunny!" Sideswipe called, brandishing a cube of high grade and motioning for his twin to join him at the table with Jazz, Prowl (who was glaring daggers at Jazz), Ironhide, Hound (who was unconscious), and Smokescreen, who was shuffling cards and grinning at Prowl's demeanor. "Come join us!"

Sunstreaker gave a sneer and exited the room without a backward glance. Sideswipe sighed, slouching back in his seat and downing his cube in one long draught. He tossed the empty cube behind him to the considerable pile and grabbed another from the side table.

"He has an early shift," Prowl said not bothering to grab the hand he was dealt. His ire was focused on Jazz, who had effectively leaned back in his chair and pinned the Praxian's door wing into place. Jazz knew how to subdue in any situation. Whether he was conscious of it or not, it was hard to tell. "He's wise in not getting overcharged, unlike _some_ of our crew members."

Jazz offered a lopsided grin, grabbing Prowl's cards and holding them next to his own, playing the mechs hand for him. "Sunny's never been one to socialize," Jazz put in giving a significant look to Prowl and adding, "Like someone else I know. Apparently some bots aren't programmed to be social."

"He used to love parties," Sideswipe said, and no one could miss the grief in his voice. He stared morosely at his new cube, tilting it and making the purple liquid slosh in its crystalline cage.

Everyone exchanged looks, knowing Sunstreaker had the reputation of being 'unfriendly' since the twins joined the Autobot ranks. It was shocking news to learn that he had once enjoyed socializing festivities. It was like someone saying that Prime had a past life at a pleasure house.

"What happened?" Smokescreen asked, the underlying psychologist in him rearing its head. He wasn't the only one that was curious though. Jazz and Ironhide had stopped surveying their cards and were now looking at Sideswipe. Hound was still face down on the table.

"Why doesn't Sunstreaker like parties?" Ironhide asked, twirling his cards though he hadn't looked at his hand yet. "I mean, he was a famous artist. Surely he had to attend parties and gallery openings."

"Kaon," Sideswipe answered, his optics dimming in memory.

"The gladiatorial circuit?" Prowl prompted.

Sideswipe nodded, his face graying with long forgotten memory.

"I would think the crowds would have appealed to Sunstreaker," Jazz put in, surveying Sideswipe with intense scrutiny. "Entertaining a crowd and draining their accounts as they overcharged. Hear them screaming your designation and having femmes throwing themselves at you. All the adulation and admiration a mech could hope for."

"Especially when you have to kill your opponent," Sideswipe said, earning startled beeps from his table mates. Everyone looked at him with a strange mixture of fear and trepidation. They knew the twins had endured fighting for the gladiatorial circuit for a long time. Rumor had it, they excelled in the lethal tournaments, but neither openly spoke about what went on in the Pits of Kaon.

"You killed for…. entertainment?" Prowl asked, noting the look of abject sorrow on Sideswipe's face. It looked very out of place compared to the more jovial, pranking mood for which he was notorious.

"We fought in the regular matches and by accident, we were billed for a death match," Sideswipe said, staring at his cube. His own cards lay untouched in front of him. "But the first time the crowd roared for termination, we had no choice."

Jazz leaned forward to better glimpse Sideswipe, his action freeing up Prowl's trapped doorwing, but the Praxian remained stationary, still staring at Sideswipe.

"There's always a choice,' Jazz put in, as if was the most obvious thing in the world.

"We didn't want to terminate someone," Sideswipe confided to his audience, his gaze still far away in another time and place. "But our opponents nearly terminated **us**, and when we realized we could lose each other," He offered a partial shrug. "Sunny just…snapped."

The assembled bots felt their energon lines run cold at the harsh tone Sideswipe adopted as he continued, lost in memory.

"I thought the first time he terminated someone would repulse him, as it had repulsed me, but Sunny actually _enjoyed _it. He felt something that he had never experienced before. And that feeling is what drove him to terminate anyone who crossed him."

"What was that?" Prowl asked, making a note to keep whatever _**it**_ was away from Sunstreaker in the future.

"Control," Sideswipe said, looking to Prowl and making the Second recoil slightly from the look of pained desperation on Sideswipe's face. "We couldn't control our lives. We were bought and sold and slaved out to anyone who paid a fair price," Sideswipe admitted, not noticing the shameful looks he was receiving. No one knew the extent of the twins' enslavement, their past kept private for obvious reasons. "We couldn't control when we ate, when we charged, who shared our berth, who we fought against, but _**this**_..." Sideswipe gave Prowl a hurt expression, "Sunny could _control_ who lived and who terminated."

"More like, uncontrolled," Ironhide put in, dropping his cards as no one seemed to be interested in playing their game.

"He was uncontrollable, yes," Sideswipe admitted, he downed the rest of his high grade and grabbed another cube from the side table. It was lucky he had so much liquid courage filling his tanks. He didn't divulge such information freely. And there was a good chance he wouldn't remember the conversation tomorrow.

"Sunny lost _his_ control," Sideswipe continued, "He terminated every opponent, even if it wasn't a death match. He saw, he raged, he terminated. And all to the roaring laughter of the crowds." He stared into the shimmering depths of his cube, lost in bitter thought. "You think battling Deceptions is bad. You should fight a death match for entertainment. All chanting your designation and screaming for your hand to extinguish a spark. A life taken, simply because they wish to see that brilliant life disappear into darkness."

Smokescreen nodded, filing away the information. Now that Sideswipe was well past intoxicated, he offered information that wasn't even given in confidence. Not that either twin resorted to Smokescreen's profession before.

"That's why Sunstreaker doesn't want to be around groups," Smokescreen said with a thoughtful expression. Now that he had this little piece of the puzzle, he could better formulate a way to help Sunstreaker. Though there was a good chance he could get slagged for even offering. Sunstreaker didn't like to talk to others about his past, nor his feelings. He usually spoke with violence.

Sideswipe offered a nod, glancing to the Praxian sitting opposite.

"He enjoyed the noise too much," Sideswipe admitted, his gaze returning to that faraway place. "He was like watching death in fast forward. And the exhilaration of his name being screamed by thousands of spectators, was intoxicating. He craved their bloodlust, using it to fuel his actions and take even more lives."

Smokescreen expelled a slow ex-vent, scrutinizing the ruby Lamborghini. "And what stopped him? Surly if he enjoyed the roar of the crowd and the adulation, he would have kept going. So, what stopped him and caused him to join the Autobot ranks?"

"Me." Sideswipe looked up, and the table felt his spark burn at the raw grief. "Sunstreaker's last opponent, was me."

"But if he terminated you, wouldn't that mean he would terminate as well?" Jazz asked. It was often joked that neither twin could perish because their spark could latch onto the other and continue to exist.

"We were ordered to fight each other," Sideswipe admitted, feeling his tanks churn at the memory. He closed his optics, shaking his head in slow motion as he relived the worst moment of his life. The cube in his hand cracked as he clutched it. "Sunny lost himself to the will of the crowd. He attacked me. I doubt he really wanted to do me harm, but the look in his optics as he charged…. I will never forget it. He was just so… _angry_. In that moment, I knew Sunstreaker was capable of anything." Sideswipe downed the contents of the cube and gave his head a little shake as the extra charge made him see double. "I dropped my guard and allowed him to strike me."

"Why would you do such a thing?" Prowl asked, wondering what could have went through each twins processors in that moment. It was very perplexing. He felt his battle computer engage and churn with random equations.

"I didn't want to live with a brother who turned into a monster," Sideswipe said simply, swaying a little as he turned in his seat to regard Prowl, both of him. "He struck me down, and as he stood ready to deliver the fatal blow…he came back. My Sunny came back. He saw what he had done and refused to fight any longer. When our handler had us brought before him for punishment, Sunstreaker attacked and terminated him. He found the disabling device for our slave collars, freed all the slaves, and we left. A few days later, we joined up."

"So that's why Sunstreaker doesn't like parties," Smokescreen put in thoughtfully. "The crowds remind him of what he allowed himself to become."

"Now, all he wants is to be left alone," Sideswipe said, "Just… peace and quiet for his processor."

"If you call a war quiet and peaceful," Jazz snorted.

Sideswipe's gaze drifted toward the empty cube, his brow furrowing in deep thought. "All Sunny wants is peace and quiet. Away from those who would erase his will and force him into becoming a drone for their entertainment." He let out a hiccupping chirp, his expression still disturbed. "He only wants to hear silence."

"That is something we all wish," Prowl said in a soft tone, earning several nods in agreement.

Sideswipe gave a little start, as if noticing those gathered around him for the first time. His overly bright optics fell on Prowl and with another hiccupping chirp, he declared, "I love you!" before faceplanting on the Praxian's chassis.

Prowl sighed, knowing the frontliner was just overcharged…. Again. He twitched a doorwing in annoyance and felt a sudden burst of relief when he realized Jazz no longer had the doorwing pinned. He pushed from the table, hoisting an unconscious Sideswipe against him. "I'll drop him at his quarters."

Jazz grinned, earning Prowl's questioning glare.

"I said you looked irresistible with that new wax job," Jazz smirked.

Prowl rolled his optics and hugged Sideswipe against him as he stood, pulling both from their seats. "I'll take him to his berth."

"I didn't think you'd be one to take advantage," Jazz ginned, picking up his forgotten cards and scowling at the horrible hand he was dealt.

Prowl offered a snort, "Unlike yourself, I do not take advantage of those who can not fend for themselves."

"Ouch man, that stung," Jazz called, not looking up from his hand as he shuffled his cards, weighing his options. He took three from Prowl's hand and shuffled them with his own, his optics narrowing at the new configuration.

Prow dragged the unconscious Sideswipe out of the rec room and toward his quarters. Not wanting to barge in and have Sunstreaker attack the unannounced stranger, Prowl hit the door chime, alerting the other occupant to his visit. When Sunstreaker answered the door it was with his usual scowl.

"Apologies for the interruption, but your brother seems to have overindulged," Prowl said, waiting for Sunstreaker to make the first move.

As expected, Sunstreaker stepped aside, giving the Second a clear path to the other berth. Prowl suppressed a scoff, but dragged the unconscious Lamborghini and dropped him on his berth. He turned to leave, noticing Sunstreaker still stationed at the door, a dark look on his face. When Prowl went to the door, he stopped in front of the golden twin, his expression neutral. Sunstreaker gave him a hard stare, clearly not liking the sudden attention or invasion of personal space.

"You have my word, you will find peace," Prowl said, and without another word, he left, leaving behind a stunned Sunstreaker and a snoring Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker shut the door, his expression frozen in shock. When a particularly loud snore permeated the room, he zeroed in on its source, his fists forming at his sides as he stalked to his brother. He had a feeling that his twin was in a talkative mood this evening with the high grade. When Sideswipe snored again, Sunstreaker placed his foot against his brother's side and shoved him forward, ramming his face against the berth and wall. When Sideswipe's face was smashed into the crease eliminating his snores, Sunstreaker ex-vented and returned to his berth.

Silence reigned once more.

**OOOO-III-0000-OOO-IIIIII-000000-OOOOOO**

I'm sorry. I just cant seem to keep Sideswipe sober. Little bastard can put away the hooch! And it taxes my little brain to slur words and spell them accordingly, so you're just going to have to imagine the words coming from a drunk vocalizer.

HUGE **THANK YOU** AND RESOUNDING **GRATITUDE** TO ALL READERS! I do try to answer everyone via the site's messaging system. If I miss anyone just jump up and down and yell 'Me me me me" and I'll get back to you. :D


	40. Road Side Assistance

**Road Side Assistance**

AN: Location is fiction. So no one get any ideas of going to Oregon to find it.

AN2: Just some random silliness. Gosh you guys! 380 reviews?! *faints* I honestly didn't think I'd get THAT high. Its just… amazing! Fantastic! Inspiring! Hence why/how I was able to get another chapter finished so quickly.

Also, Morrigayn DeWyvern should be thanked for making a pact with me to get at least one chapter finished. Ya'll should go check out her work! Be warned, its not cute/crack/fluffy, but definitely worth the read!

**00000-ooooo-IIIIII-000000-OOOOO-IIIIII-00000-OOOOO-IIIIII-00000**

"This is all your fault," Sunstreaker snapped, arms crossed over his chassis.

"How is it my fault?" Sideswipe countered, his middle finger extended toward traffic.

Several motorists honked and shouted, some even returning the gesture. Sideswipe frowned, wondering why no one seemed to have a positive reaction to the gesture. Humans did it all the time as a ritual sign of greeting or requiring assistance.

"And you're doing it wrong," Sunstreaker snapped. "You are supposed to use your _thumb_ and point it in the direction you want to go."

Sideswipe's brow ridge arched as he thought, then lowered his middle finger, stuck out his thumb and turned pointing away from traffic, his thumb held in front of him and showing the direction he wanted to go. He looked like an artist lining up a horizon sketch.

"If you hadn't insisted we take that detour…." Sunstreaker snarled, his anger rising. He slapped his brother's hand and spun him around to face the oncoming traffic. "You stand _facing_ the traffic and point your thumb OVER your shoulder! Idiot!"

"How do you know?" Sideswipe retorted, slapping his brother in return.

"Television programs," Sunstreaker jeered, giving his brother an incredulous look. "And why am I letting _you_ do this? I would have a better chance at getting noticed."

"Yeah right!" Sideswipe snorted, waving to traffic and earning a few beeps in recognition.

"And you think you'll get attention faster than me?" Sunstreaker asked incredulously.

"We're twins, idiot," Sideswipe retorted, trying to wave at traffic. People swerved around them, but any actual confrontation was avoided, and by the scared looks on the human faces, no one was going to be offering assistance anytime soon. No one pulled over to ask the wayward bots if they needed help. Apparently the alien allies were nice to look at, but people were still scared to come to near in fear of the giant beings.

"Yeah, but even blind humans can see which of us is best."

"This isn't working." Sideswipe sighed, throwing his hands up in defeat.

"Let me try," Sunstreaker gave one of his rare smiles. It was sad he didn't smile more often, because it only enhanced his beauty. The perpetual scowl only gave him a dark aura, adding to his mystery.

"If you think you can," Sideswipe snorted, going to the side to watch his twin at work.

Sunstreaker stood by the side of the road, watching the oncoming cars, his optics darting to family sedan to utility vehicle. He remained motionless for a long moment, studying the road. Then a sporty car came flying up the highway, barreling down the road in the fast lane, honking at the slower drivers. Sunstreaker allowed a small curl of his lip before stepping to the middle of the highway. He angled his leg out slightly, his fingers skirting the edges of his upper thigh and gently lifted the edges to reveal the shiny platinum of his protoform.

All cars on the highway stopped.

Sideswipe stood agape.

Sunstreaker looked over his shoulder, giving his twin a cheeky look. "Sometimes you have to show a little undercarriage."

Sideswipe shook his head. "You're such a whore."

"I'm not a whore," Sunstreaker said, ignoring the humans now shouting at the duo for their attention. "I'm a tease."

"Right," Sideswipe nodded, going to a pretty femme that had been driving the flashy sports car. "Tracks is the whore."

"Slagging right," Sunstreaker said, carefully smoothing his plating and giving it an extra buff, just to make it shine.

"Excuse me, Miss, but do you have a car phone we could use?" Sideswipe asked in a polite and devilishly handsome way. "We had an accident and need to call home."

"Uhmm…. Sure?" The woman said, fumbling with the telephone mounted on the dashboard.

"It's a local call," Sideswipe added, flashing a dangerously wicked smile that had the human femme smiling in appraisal.

Sideswipe easily connected to the device and dialed the Autobots number, silently grateful the humans had given them a contact number for emergencies.

"Red? It's Sideswipe," he said, hearing the twitchy mechs voice answer. The call was full of static, though a lot of the noise could be blamed on the mech answering the call. "We had a bit of an accident and need the Doc Bot. Can you send Ratchet to," Sideswipe rose up, looking around and found a green marker, "Highway fifty-six, just after the one ten marker?"

The femme driving the sports car looked to Sunstreaker, her human eyes glittering with the sparkling gold. She smiled, seeing the 'Lamborghini' stamp of his alt mode. When she saw Sunstreaker's face, she gasped in both fear and awe. He was gorgeous, but also glaring in a deadly way that made her blood freeze in her veins.

"Thanks, Red," Sideswipe said, removing his connection to the car phone. He turned to his twin, "Help is on its way."

"Joy," Sunstreaker muttered, drifting to the edge of the road and away from the gawking human femme. Something about the twinkle in her optics unnerved him. She looked like she wanted to either talk to him, or touch him. He wasn't fond of either idea.

"Thank you, Miss," Sideswipe said and joined his twin, hearing the roar of traffic start to flow once again. He leaned against his brother, bumping shoulders. "That human looked like she wanted to eat you or drive you."

Sunstreaker gave a shudder. "Not going to happen."

"Well, you have to admit," Sideswipe said, waiting until his brother locked optics with him. "She has excellent taste."

**00000-ooooo-IIIIII-000000-OOOOO-IIIIII-00000-OOOOO-IIIIII-00000**

Remember back in the day when the 'in' thing was to have a car phone and only the wealthy/expensive cars had them?

I really don't know what was wrong with the twins. They wouldn't tell me. I just know that their communicators were non-operational and their tires were flat. And its not like one would abandon the other. Nor could they actually ride IN a car to get back to base. The only way they could use a regular car for 'transport' would be to place their pedes on the car and use them as roller skates. :D


	41. Sidelined

Request fic from **Prowls little angel**. I hope its up to your expectations. And I can't seem to keep the red fragger out of the high grade! Well, hopefully, this little incident will teach him a lesson. And we can enjoy his hijinks when he's not hammered off his aft.

Oh a side note (snickers) I missed my Anniversary for this fic! *gasps* Its hard to believe its been over a year. Wow... I'm just... Gosh... I'm just honored that the story has so well received and that there are those who still follow and enjoy my insanity.

THANK YOU!

**0000-iiii-oooo-00000-iiiii—oooooo-0000000-OOOOOO**

"SIDESWIPE!" the name rang out from a very disgruntled mech. The cacophony of his noise was soon drowning out the groans, moans, and threats of the crew, who nursed aching processors and fitful tanks. When the rare party was allowed, the mechs overindulged. And with their exercise into inebriation, there came the inevitable after effects. Audios rang in a symphony of resounding beats and irritating pulses that somehow found the right frequency to grate on a mechs nerve center.

"What the slag?" Someone yelled in alarm.

Groans chorused again, this time, having a reason for that particular tone of voice.

Sideswipe was at it again.

"That fragger!" someone shouted, stumbling from the dazed and confused arms of their comrade and directing his uneven step toward the exit of the unfortunate bots quarters.

Bots exited someone else's quarters, rubbing their helms and heading toward the Command Hub, where Sideswipe was scheduled for the morning shift at the monitors. With an assortment of mechs greeting each other in gruff growls and disoriented huffs, they stalked as a mad mob toward their victim, every intention of ganging up on him. If there was enough mechs, and they were quick enough, they may get away with murder. Several gained the Command Center and scanned the room with bleary optics, looking for their target.

"SIDESWIPE!" a voice thundered throughout the base, causing everyone to stall and glance around, expecting to see the pit maker come to deliver his judgment upon their guilty helms.

Time stopped. Even the monitors in the command hub were quiet. No one dared to break the silence. Just as the spell was cast, there came the booming footfalls of one **very** pissed of mech.

When Prime first burst into the Command Hub, one would assume he was preparing to face down Megatron to the death. Not that he wasn't currently searching for his target to unleash an unholy pit upon. Pity the mech to face his wrath.

Prime's optics darted to the monitor bank, but instead of seeing Sideswipe's ruby colored armor, there was a golden ray of sunshine sitting in the seat.

"Sunstreaker?" Prime barked, causing the handful of newly arriving mechs to jump, both from his tone and from the painful dissonance from his voice. Sunstreaker didn't even flinch.

"Yeah?' Sunstreaker asked without looking to his commander. He had a feeling what had crawled up Prime's tailpipe and died.

"_**Where**_ is your brother?" Prime asked, coming to stand directly behind the golden warrior who seemed immune to the murder lurking in the air.

"Who knows where my lush of a brother has hidden himself," Sunstreaker said turning bored optics from the screen and emitting a startled gasp.

Prime's chest plates proudly proclaimed **'Elita isn't the only ONE',** while his interface panel declared, **'I'm PRIME for a reason'**, with a rather crude painting of a spike down the right thigh.

"I suggest you find out where your twin is currently located, " Prowl added having joined the duo unnoticed. Sunstreaker looked to his favorite antagonist and couldn't stop the laugh. Prowls' body was painted in bright red lips, with the connotation **'Jazz was here… and here… and here… and here.'**

All over his body.

Sunstreaker looked back to the monitors, trying to suppress his laughter, but his shoulder shook with the effort. It was then that Prowl noticed the feed on the screens and let out an angered puff through his vents.

"Let me guess, Sideswipe has sabotaged the monitors?" Prowl asked, his doorwings hitching as his anger was brought to a simmer.

"I've been trying to break the loop but I'm having difficulty," Sunstreaker admitted, typing in a series of command codes, but Tele-Tran refused to cooperate.

Ironhide came storming in, his growl reaching the audios of the three mechs before to announce his arrival.

"Sunstreaker? Where's your idiot twin?" Ironhide barked.

"I don't know," Sunstreaker said, finding the whole scene to be hilarious. He sent up a redundant program to record on the still functioning cameras. This was black mail for the ages! "He asked me to cover his shift this morning. I'm guessing he got over energized and passed out somewhere."

"You wait until I find the slagger," Ironhide snarled, earning a defensive reaction from Sunstreaker. He may not agree with his twin on some aspects, but he'd be slagged if he allowed anyone else to beat on his brother. That was reserved for only Sunstreaker.

Too bad Sunstreaker couldn't keep a straight face upon seeing Ironhide's message. Ironhide's chassis was painted with feminine curves while his interface panel bore the message **'Chromia's bitch.'**

One by one, mechs filtered into the command center. Most staggered, each grasping their aching helms and wondering who let Omega Supreme sit on them. Whatever the twins had brewed into the new mix of high grade, it sure packed a punch.

Hound wore a sign in black lettering **'I love to do it in the mud.'**

Mirage sported an epithet that read, **'I'm so uptight, my aft plates squeak.'**

Jazz declared, **'Doorwings make me hot.'**

That particular message caused Prowl to go from simmering to a full boil.

Bluestreak was peering sleepy optic to the others who smirked. It took him a moment to read the declaration of **'This mouth can do more than just talk.'**

After the message sunk in, he ran from the room bleating like an injured sparkling.

Gears scowled at everyone's personal jibes against their personalities and 'prowess'… his own sign merely warned people **'If you see me coming, run the other direction.' **Though he felt comforted by the fact he didn't have vulgar graffiti like the others, he still felt slighted that he didn't get considered for such

"I'm going to kill your brother," Smokescreen said, his arm draped over his chassis to hide the decree **'Check out the rack, Boys'.**

"Get in line," Sunstreaker grunted, unperturbed by the looks he was receiving on his brothers behalf.

"Prime, something has to be done about this childish behavior," Prowl said, ignoring the snickers as everyone's attention focused to his own body art. Jazz was snickering, then puckering his lip components and sending mock kisses toward the other black and white, earning even more laughter. The chuckles turned into groans as helms pounded and tanks threatened to empty.

"I agree," Smokescreen said, standing beside his brethren in a show of a united front. He waited until Prowl's attention was on Prime before lowering his arm and comparing their chassis. Prowl noticed the action, and gave his fellow Praxian a death glare.

"This has gone from childish fun to physiological torture," Smokescreen added, snapping out of his daze and focusing on the task at hand.

"Agreed,' said Prime, turning from his two fuming officers to the silent frontline mech. "Sunstreaker, where is Sideswipe?"

"I'm right here," Sideswipe said, his voice sounding just as gruff and confused as everyone else's. When everyone turned at the sound of his voice, furious retribution instantly died down and was replaced with confused incredulity.

Sideswipe helm was labeled, **'EMPTY' **and on his interface panel, it read, **'Here too.'**

"What's… going ….on?" Sideswipe asked, just noticing the graffiti that adorned his fellow Autobots. He quickly looked to his own chassis in fear, and when he realized what was on his interface panel, he spun Huffer around to use his mirrors. With a groan he closed his optics.

"Very funny," Sideswipe said, though his voice lacked any humor.

"You didn't do this?" Ironhide asked, stalking toward the twitching Lamborghini.

"How could I have done this?" Sideswipe said, giving the weapons specialist an exasperated look. "I've been unconscious."

"Could have done it sleepwalking,' Ratchet said, glowering over his painted windshield that said, **'Forget the wrench. Screw this!'**

"Did you do this?" Jazz asked, finding the paint to be resistant to being scratched off. Apparently it was going to take more than just a few flicks of fingers to erase the messages.

"What? No!...but I wouldn't mind taking the credit. This is primo work. Wish I would have thought of this earlier." Sideswipe admitted, looking around to the irrated mechs and their insightful proclamations.

"Right," Ironhide sighed. Leave it to Sideswipe to want to take responsibility for someone else's prank. If it was good, he'd take the fall, regardless. He was an idiot that way.

"Leave it to Sideswipe to find this crude defacing of bodies and personal space to be commendable." Prowl offered, scratching at his own painted sign. He wondered what was in it to cause it to itch so much.

"Idiot," Ironhide muttered, earning a cross look from Sideswipe.

"Prime!" Red Alert shouted, entering the room at a dead run and nearly colliding with his intended audience.

No one could hold back the snickers as Red's graffiti declared, **'I'm smoking hot and in need of a big hose.'**

"We are aware of the situation, Red Alert," Prime said, halting the sputtering mech's speech. "We are trying to ascertain the culprit."

"That's easy," Red Alert spat, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "It was Sideswipe."

"Sorry, bro, but it wasn't me,' Sideswipe said, noting how Sunstreaker frowned at the familiar designation for one of their biggest rivals.

Red Alert turned livid optics to his greatest threat to security, when he faltered, noting Sideswipe also bore crude graffiti. The chances of Sideswipe pranking himself were astronomical, so that eliminated that possibility. Red went to the main monitor, his hands brushing Sunstreaker's aside to type in the override codes on the now inactive security monitors.

Sunstreaker offered a low growl but pushed away from the monitor. He knew Red Alert was focused on the task of finding the culprit. Since Sunstreaker couldn't hack the code, he had a feeling that Red Alert could. He was a paranoid glitch, but he was good at his job.

"It appears that only the internal cameras were made inoperable," Red Alert said, his hands flying over the keyboard and inserting codes so fast it was hard to decipher them. Sunstreaker stared at the screen, his processor zeroed in on the lines of code used to hack and retrace the system. Red Alert was so caught up in his investigation, he didn't notice his astute audience.

"So there hasn't been a perimeter breach?" Prowl asked, joining the white Lamborghini at the consol.

"According to the logs, it's been quiet," Red Alert stated, trying redundancy programs to bring up crucial information. "But we can't be sure until I run a system wide scan and dump and reconfigure the input data time stamps."

"Sounds painful," Sideswipe said, his hand absently rubbing his midsection to order to ease the rumbling of his tank.

"I'll find the culprit, believe me," Red Alert promised the room at large. Several mechs excused themselves to head to the washracks and remove the evidence of someone's jovial mood.

"Am I free to go?" Sunstreaker asked, stretching and hearing several pops in his frame. "I've been at the monitors all night while you ingrates celebrated and I'm in need of a decent charge."

Prowl skimmed the duty logs and sure enough, Sunstreaker had been on monitor duty since the evening shift mechs had left to attend Jazz's most recent party. Sideswipe was supposed to relieve Sunstreaker, but with the red warrior currently leaning toward the trash can, there was a chance he wasn't going to be fit to perform his shift.

"Go ahead," Prowl said, nodding toward the door. "You are dismissed."

Sunstreaker rose from his chair and stepped toward the exit before Red Alert halted his progress.

"You were at the monitors all night?" Red Alert asked, his gaze still focused on the screen and trying to break its looping cycle.

"Yeah," Sunstreaker admitted.

"And you didn't see anything?"

"No. As soon as I got here, I stared at the boring screens," Sunstreaker said, hearing his berth calling his designation with a sweet lilt.

"And you didn't notice they had been playing on a loop?" Red Alert asked, pulling his gaze away to stare at the golden mech with a hard, cruel look.

Sunstreaker instantly riled, his optics narrowing at the silent posturing. Insinuation was a good way to get yourself slagged.

"I didn't know about the looping program until morning, when I noticed no activity in the halls," Sunstreaker said, his armor puffing up in superior display. He may be the same build as the Security Director, but Red Alert was outmatched in strength, endurance and skill.

Red Alert didn't say another word as he turned back to the monitor and tried another code to break through. He knew when Sunstreaker started to get that look that it was time to mute your vocalizer lest he hand it to you when you regained consciousness in the medical ward a week later.

Just when Sunstreaker made it to the door several things happened at once. First, shouts echoed down the hall from the washracks. Second, the comm. link was filled with protesting mechs informing their comrades that the black paint adorning their frames had been mixed with an adhesive. A** permanent **adhesive. To remove their personal messages, they would have to strip down to the primer and reapply their paint schemes. Third, Red Alert bypassed the system and found that the cameras had been sabotaged internally at a backup terminal. And the security code used to initiate the loop had been Prime's own. Red Alert turned to interrogate Prime, Prowl and Jazz jumped to their leader's defense, Ironhide thundered above the din and Sideswipe felt a most curious sensation.

Giddiness. With a strange tinge that made his circuits itch.

He turned curious optics to his twin, questions flooding their link, his expression neutral.

Sunstreaker quirked one optic ridge and gave a barely perceived jerk of his head toward the command staff who were bickering like younglings. He rolled his optics, showing his annoyance at the idiocy and childishness displayed by their own _mature_ commanders. It was funny about how the senior officers lectured about maturity and respect when they were acting like the very soldiers they chastised.

Sideswipe snickered too, hearing Red Alert flat out accuse Prime of manipulating the cameras so he could enact his 'diabolical scheme.' A shouting match ensued, following Sunstreaker's audios down the hall and only being muffled by the closing of his door.

For the first time in a long time, Sunstreaker laughed, doubling over and grabbing his midsection as his transformation seams threatened to rupture. He heard Sideswipe yelling down the hall about the most recent prank not being his fault, followed by thunderous bellows from the other half of the crew who just awoke from their drunken stupor. Apparently Sideswipe was headed for the smelter. And by his high pitched screaming, his comrades in arms were about to catch him.

Sunstreaker chuckled, extending his hands and taking in the thin, delicate, artistic fingers. A smudge of black paint was on his left knuckles, blending into the natural scheme of his frame. With a devilish smirk, he wiped off the incriminating evidence and stretched out on his berth, ready to enjoy some peace and solitude from his conniving twin.

**0000-OOOO-IIIIII-0000-OOO-IIIII-00-I-IIIII-00000-OOOOOOO**

**I admit, I've done some crazy things to get peace and quiet, but not quite this drastic. As someone who *rarely* pulls pranks, and takes things rather seriously, its extremely difficult for me to concoct these little pranks and figure out how to pull them off and their possible consequences. I hope I don't beat anyone over the head with them and I hope I don't come up with something that someone else has already done. As I have mentioned before, due to Real Life, I don't read a lot on the site and I don't keep track of what other authors are doing. I write my own thing and post, hoping to entertain and possibly to make one think.**

**And there is a bit of a hitch, dear readers. Apparently I've been remiss on titles for sweet, innocent little Sunstreaker. I tend to label a LOT of my chapters after Sideswipe and Sunny has been neglected. My ratio at the moment is 2:1 to Sideswipe. I feel I cant let that gorgeous mech down, so I ask if anyone has any possible title I could use or haven't thought of. If its already been scribbled out, I'll let you know, but with over 40 possible chapter titles, its difficult to find titles to fit certain ideas/scenes, so any possible help would be greatly appreciated. **

**Love as always from a tickled author and two Lamborghinis.**


	42. A Formidable Streak

A FORMIDABLE STREAK

Thank you to all my readers! Got a few new people and I just wanted to say, BIG THANK YOU to joining my insanity and finding it entertaining. I try to send messages of gratitude to all my readers but some of you have your messaging system disabled. Just so you all know, I appreciate all the reviews and words of support. Though I cant send messages to everyone, I hope all of you know how much your continued support means to me.

**AuraBlackChan- **Thank you for your wonderful and generous reviews! Your requests were added to the pile and I will endeavor to work on it when the muse strikes. I can't garantee when any will be posted because I never know WHAT the muse is going to come up with, but rest assured, they WILL be kept in the pile for future consideration. :)

**OOOOO-IIIIIIIIIIIIII-0000000000000-OOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

The twins stood outside of the main conference room. Sideswipe bounced on his pedes, his systems humming so high they threatened to break the sound barrier. Sunstreaker leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, scowling as he scanned the corridor with precise movement. Nothing was going to catch him unaware. They may be in the middle of the Autobot's main strong hold, but it didn't mean there weren't spies and saboteurs sneaking around to wreck some havoc. The newly painted Autobot sigil was upon both of their bodies.

"What do you think they want with us?" Sideswipe asked, halting his bouncing to rock on his pedes.

"Better not be for experiments," Sunstreaker answered casting his gaze down the hall toward distant noise.

"Doubtful," Sideswipe said, his giddiness bleeding over the bond. He was like a sparkling being offered a present if they were good. The anticipation was killing him.

"Stop doing that," Sunstreaker muttered, his hand going to rub his chest above his spark chamber.

Sideswipe offered a cheesy grin, flooding the link with love, adoration, affection and all the warm fuzzy feelings that made Sunstreaker's tank churn. Sunstreaker pushed off from the wall and took one step toward his twin, his optics clouding over with rage. Sideswipe immediately halted his teasing and sent a pulse of foreboding toward his brother. The sudden switch in emotion didn't faze Sunstreaker. As soon as he was within arm's length, he reached out and grasped his brother by the throat.

Sideswipe tugged at the hand clutching his throat. He didn't need oxygen to breath but Sunstreaker's grip was pinching a wire. His hold was rather lax, considering the power behind his frame.

The door chose that moment to open. A startled gasp greeted the twins' audios before someone had the audacity, or the stupidity, to reach out and grab Sunstreaker's arm. The owner of the arm probably only wanted to separate what he thought was a confrontation, but what he got instead was a face full of enraged Pit fighter.

Sunstreaker was before the new mech in a spark beat, their olfactory sensors brushing against one another. The stranger's arm had been deflected and now hung limp at his side, a stinging shudder still pronounced along the plating.

"Explain yourself," the mech said in a cultured tone.

"Frag off," Sunstreaker growled, chest vibrating with his words.

"Sunny," Sideswipe said, placing his arm between his brother's golden chest and the black and white chest of his competition.

"I suggest you heed the advice," the mech said, his door wings flared wide in intimidation.

It didn't work on Sunstreaker. He had terminated Praxian's before.

"I suggest you keep your servos to yourself lest you have them removed," Sunstreaker answered, his voice sending shivers along spinal struts. How the mech managed to hit that deep, resonant tone, no one knew. But another black and white mech in the room perked up with interest.

"Stand down, the both of you," a commanding voice resounded from the room.

The black and white mech instantly dropped to a submissive stance, squared his shoulders, hiked his doorwings and spun, almost clipping Sunstreaker with the appendages. He walked to his chair and sat down with all the royalty associated with the Tower mechs.

"Sit down," the voice ordered.

The twins stepped hesitatingly into the room, unsure of where they were to sit. Every bot of high command was present. It was very unnerving and disconcerting. Steps slow, unsure, the twins ventured into the room, Sunstreaker falling into step behind his twin.

A long table, seating at least thirty mechs and femmes was centered in the room. The chairs were evenly spaced, allowing even a doorwinger amply room to move without fear of damaging their notorious attributes. The twins collective gaze traveled the length of the table and with dual noises of shocked embarrassment, realized the Prime was standing in expectation. His hand gestured toward the two chairs seated on his left. Obediently the twins took the offered seats, the two black and white officers sitting opposite. The twins felt like this was a trial before an execution.

"I am Optimus Prime," the cultured voice of the Autobot leader rang out into ever corner of the room. "You are not in trouble and there is no cause for dissent between yourself and any member of my staff."

The black and white officer that accosted Sunstreaker narrowed his gaze ever so slightly. It was obvious he held some sort of grudge against the mech who disobeyed his orders. Having the mech to also tell him to 'frag off' was another serious offence. Not to mention the slagger had moved so fast, there was no time to retaliate.

Sunstreaker directed his gaze from Prime to the black and white seated on his right, giving the door winged mech a curled lip in answer. He wasn't going to let the Prime dictate who he could hate and who he could show leniency toward. Only Sideswipe had that type of sway over him, and it wasn't exercised often.

"This is an informal meeting, allowing you to meet my staff and to choose which option would be best for you, either individually or together,' Prime continued.

Sunstreaker's gaze snapped back to the Prime. He sent a wave of trepidation toward his twin, who mirrored the sentiment. When mechs started talking about 'options', it usually meant the twins were going to have to make a tough decision. And it almost always ended in suffering.

"When you both enlisted you received updates and virus checks," Prime said, nodding toward the white clad mech seated halfway down the table. "Along with various other standardized tests required by all who enter our ranks."

The twins looked to the mech indicated and noticed the medic who had attended them when they first enlisted. He was gruff, direct, and didn't take slag from anyone. The twins had liked him immediately.

"One of the exams revealed some interesting results," Prime said, gaining the attention of the two mechs. He could see the cogs working in their processors, trying to understand which test was being referred to when one of them opened their vocalizer. And the wrong thing came out.

"So we're split spark twins," Sideswipe said with a forceful voice. His gaze hardened when he stared into the optics of the Autobot leader. "It doesn't mean we should be locked up and experimented on!"

Several gasps went throughout the ranks. Whispers rose up. If possible, the black and white doorwinged mech's gaze turned even harder, boring into the two sitting opposite. The other black and white registered surprise before his lip components curled into a crooked smirk.

Sunstreaker turned icy optics to the others at the table and noticed, with a strange pang of shock, that most were now staring in abject fear of the two. A couple shook their heads, staring with accusing optics to the two that defied the will of Primus and split into two beings.

Sideswipe's gaze followed his brothers, both sending a continuous stream of turmoil, trepidation, and a rising fear that they were about to fight for their lives. Again. Bots didn't take too well to learning that two amongst their midst were considered defective. On most of Cybertron, when a mech or femme is found to have glitches, they are reprogrammed. And if they can't be reprogrammed, they are terminated and sent to the smelters. Defects were an almost certain death to anyone.

It was as the twins watched the muttering table that Sideswipe noticed something and brought it to his brother's attention. The white medic who had ran their scans was scowling at the assembled bots, his lip curled in anger. His gaze traveled to each whispering bot, and though the twins could hear nothing between them, the scandalized bot would glance to the medic and still their vocalizers.

Apparently the medic had not divulged the twins unique nature.

"You didn't tell them?" Sunstreaker asked, finding his vocalizer. He wasn't one to speak, but when the situation called for it, he could hold his own in a conversation.

"It was no one's business," the medic replied with his usual curt tone. His optics cast down the table, earning silence. "And the information better not leave this room or the consequences will be dire to the one with a loose vocalizer."

Several bots looked down in shame.

The twins exchanged a look. Sunstreaker felt a strange sensation along his spark chamber. It was mirrored back as both started to rub along their chest plating directly above their spark chambers. Not knowing this strange new sensation, they mentally evaluated the feeling, trying to find the correct label. Their musings were cut short when the black and white mech without doorwings spoke up.

"Oh, you **have** to let me have them now!" he said, looking to Prime with the wide expectant optics of a youngling about to receive a special gift.

Both twins focused their optics on the mech, terror flooding their link. What did he mean, he _wanted _them? Oh Primus, it was the Pits all over again. Except now, instead of being experimented on and forced to fight for entertainment, they would be subjected to who knows what in the Autobot ranks. With Prime, the leader of the planet, anything could be done to the twins and the perpetrator would have the full blessing of the _**Prime**_!

The doorwinged mech turned in slow motion, giving his counterpart a look that stated he believed the other mech was a lunatic.

"Jazz," the doorwinged mech said in a warning tone.

'Jazz' offered a wide grin, unperturbed by the other mech's expression.

"The only one who gets to decide where they are going is the two who are involved," Prime said, cutting off any verbal sparring that may break out among his ranking officers. Honestly, some days he was in charge of a bunch of sparklings!

"Fine," Jazz said with an airy wave of his servo. He looked to the twins and gave them his most charming, and rather seductive grin.

"The reason you are called here is because of your test scores," Prime said, cutting off any further arguments. The twins gave the Autobot leader a perplexed look before he added, "Both of you have scored so highly upon your evaluations that you may chose what division would best suit you."

Jazz offered a waggle of his brow plating, that eerie grin still fixed upon his face.

"Prowl is in charge of our tactical division," Prime said, gesturing toward the mech with the door wings. "He oversees our battle strategies, diversionary tactics and battlefield simulations to prevent further loss of life. You may choose to work under him any in one of these fields."

"Jazz is our Special Ops mech," Prime said, earning that ever present grin from Jazz. "His specialties include sabotage, infiltration, extraction, and alternative means of intelligence gathering."

"Like hacking," Jazz added, his grin turning predatory. "No processor I can't navigate."

"You may choose to work under Jazz's tutelage under any of his specialties," Prime said, shaking his head at Jazz's look. He knew what was going through the mech's processor. It wasn't good. Or sane. Typical of Jazz.

"You're combat skills have been evaluated by Ironhide,' Prime said, directing the twins' gaze toward the weapons master, who narrowed his optics at the duo. "If you are willing, you may extend your skills to include a variety of weapons or assist in the tutelage of others in the art of self defense."

Ironhide glared at the two. He didn't like either of them. Ever since they had bested him in hand to hand combat, and embarrassed him in front of the new troops, he had every intention of getting even. Ironhide held a grudge like no other. He hoped they wouldn't choose his division. There would be a high probability of his cannons going off and terminating one or both of the cocky menaces.

"Red Alert is my Head of Security," Prime said, drawing the twins attention to a mech that resembled the twins own build. "His job is to keep the base safe and secure which includes the installation and counterattacks against his own security systems and picking the mechs best suited as security to enforce the rules."

The twins gaze went from Red Alert to the medic, expecting to hear the details of his job and the possibilities that awaited them in the medical wing. The mech spoke up, surprising them both.

"Don't look at me," the medic said, crossing his arms over his chassis and glaring at the two in turn. "I don't want you."

The twins shared a warm thrum of affection toward the gruff mech. Here was someone who they could relate…. and annoy. The odds were high that the medic had a decent vocabulary and could hold his own in a verbal sparring match. He had already kept the twins in check during their exams. Not to mention he had the bulk to put up a good fight if it came to blows.

"You may choose any of their offered stations,' Prime said, redirecting the twins to him. "Or you may choose combat."

The twins exchanged a look, their bond full of silent communication.

"You may work in tandem or in opposite fields," Prime reiterated, hoping to convey the magnitude of the offer presented. "Whatever your decisions, we honor your wishes. The choice is yours."

It took only a few seconds for the twins to reach a united conclusion. Working apart was out of the question. Working together on a project was a disaster waiting to happen. Neither could go too long without goading the other into an argument. Sitting behind a desk wasn't an option, due to the fact that it was boring and the twins would end up committing suicide to escape the tedium. Reporting to either of the mechs mentioned would mean having to conform to rules, regulations, and slogging through endless stacks of paperwork and meaningless forms. Not to mention the idea of having a superior really corroded their circuits. They liked free reign. They liked the freedom of doing what they wanted, when they wanted and not having someone to punish them for harmless transgressions. They liked the freedom that combat allowed.

Sideswipe turned toward Prime and answered, "We choose the front lines."

"What? Why?" Prowl asked his face a mask of shocked incredulity.

"Because fighting is what we do best," Sideswipe said, looking to the doorwinged mech and feeling his brother's mirth over their bond.

"But your scores…" Prowl trailed off, picking up a datapad and giving it a wave.

"We do what we do best," Sideswipe said with a shrug. "If we're behind the lines we can't ensure that the enemy won't make it through. But if we're out on the front lines…"

"The enemy doesn't stand a chance," Sunstreaker put in. Every bot present suppressed a shiver at his tone.

"That is sound logic," Prowl muttered.

"But you will be required to terminate mechs," Ironhide said, gauging the twins' reaction.

Both offered partial shrugs.

"It's what we do best," Sideswipe said.

"You mean, you don't have a problem with it?" Ironhide asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.

"No," Sunstreaker answered, staring daggers at the red mech.

"Waste of talent," Jazz said, leaning back in his chair and observing the two sitting opposite. They were a conundrum.

"Processors can become overtaxed. Systems develop glitches. A mech can lose their mind wondering if they made the right decision and deal with the consequences of lives lost due to ill timed or misdirected actions," Sideswipe said. "Out on the battlefield it's simple. Kill or be killed. We can control what happens on a more personal level and won't be plagued during charge about whether or not we made a correct decision."

"So you would rather terminate a mech than direct another to do the action?" Ironhide asked.

"I would know that the mech was terminated properly," Sunstreaker said, his icy optics boring into the darker blue of the weapon's master. "Without hesitation."

Something about the golden warrior's tone sent a cold tingle along spinal struts. The short demonstration the twins performed during their initial introduction to the Autobot forces were of any indication, both were well adept at terminating an opponent and would have no problem in sending someone to the smelter. It was cold, cruel, calculating, and something that was needed while fighting on the front lines. One had to have a resolve made of titanium to be the first wave of attack in the middle of a slaughter.

"You both wish to remain in infantry?" Prime asked.

"Yes," the twins chimed in unison.

"Very well," Prime said with a nod toward Prowl, who typed on a datapad. "Your decision has been recorded and your schedule augmented accordingly. If at any time you wish to change your processor, you have but to notify the Command Staff."

"Doubtful," Sideswipe said, but inclined his head in respect to the leader's words.

"If there are no more issues," Prime said to the room at large. When silence greeted his inquiry he gave a nod and added, "Dismissed."

The bots stood as one unit until Prime left the room, disappearing with Prowl and Red Alert flanking him. Several of the bots who had been whispering chose to collect in small knit circles and continue their conversation. Ratchet elbowed past them with an irritated huff and disappeared out the door. No one approached the twins. Optics stared at them, hands shielded flapping lip components, helms shook in answer to whispered words, but no one approached the two.

Sideswipe grabbed his twins' wrist, tugging him toward the door. Sunstreaker offered a parting sneer before following his brother out. The door closed behind them. Neither were aware they were followed until a third set of pedefalls resounded in the corridor. Both turned to find Jazz had followed them out.

How did the sneaky mech move so fast? Without being heard?

"Are you sure you made the right decision?" Jazz asked when the duo turned to greet him in open hostility.

"Hoping we'd change our minds and work for you?" Sideswipe asked, one brow ridge cocking with the question.

"I was hoping you would be open to the suggestion," Jazz admitted, his optics darting across the two frames behind his visor. "Special Ops has a lot to offer."

"Not interested," Sunstreaker said, having that itchy feeling along his plating that meant he was being scrutinized.

"Could be beneficial," Jazz said nonchalantly, rocking a little on his pedes.

"No," Sideswipe said, feeling a dark thrum coming from his twin. Jazz was standing too close for the golden mech's liking. Both could feel the shorter mechs EM field brush against theirs every so often. It was like being caressed by a live wire.

"Your scores ranked as high as my own," Jazz pressed onward, oblivious to the torrential storm building within arms reach. "I could show you a thing or two about subterfuge and infiltration. Teach you the proper way to infiltrate and help you polish your skills so no one would see you coming."

"Not interested," Sideswipe parroted his brother's words, sending a pulse of reassurance to the antsy warrior.

Sunstreaker flexed his body, the tension building with each passing second. Not only was the black and white mech encroaching on their personal space and not understanding their undesirable stance with his proposal, with the way Jazz was speaking, it was like he was questioning the twins' abilities. As if Jazz alone could perform precise feats and execute moves without detection. It was insulting.

"With your natural talents, I could…" Jazz started, but his words were cut off as Sunstreaker moved in a blur of gold.

Before Jazz could continue, Sunstreaker had grasped the smaller mech, shoving him forward. Both twins locked their arms into position, effectively trapping Jazz between them. If he wanted to escape his gilded cage, he'd have to go through one of them.

Jazz's helm almost collided with Sideswipe's chin. Sunstreaker's expert and unexpected handling had sent the smaller mech reeling. One minute he was staring between the twins, spouting his promises, the next he was forcibly grabbed and caged between the two. Sunstreaker stood against his back, the growl coming from him deep enough to resonate in Jazz's frantic spark. Sideswipe stood before Jazz, his carmine armor blocking all view of the outside world. Escape was cut off as gold and red intertwined on both sides, keeping Jazz immobile between them.

"I doubt you could teach us anything," Sideswipe said, his voice rumbling from his chassis and causing the proximity sensors on Jazz to go haywire. "But if you think you could take us, I invite you to try."

"Not my intent," Jazz said, relaxing in a submissive display. He had no intention of inciting their wrath. He may be good, but with the prowess just displayed by the two mechs currently encasing him in their midst, his odds of survival were nominal.

"I suggest you find someone else to harass," Sunstreaker rumbled, his voice coming from all around.

Jazz shivered from the timbre. And the threat. He knew he overstepped his bounds with these two volatile mechs. He tried another tactic to defuse the situation.

"Didn't mean to harass. Just wanted to extend a servo of welcome and admiration," Jazz said, looking up slightly into Sideswipe's optics. "Talent such as yours is to be appreciated and I may have gotten carried away in my adulation of your skills. Please, accept my apologies."

"Flattery will get you slagged," Sunstreaker growled, his arms closing in and making Jazz feel like he was in a compacting unit.

Sideswipe's fingers tightened on his brother's arm, gaining his attention.

"You do not fear us?" Sideswipe asked, watching as the black and white mech stood impassive between the two worst mechs ever built. "You do not believe we are abnormal and deserve a one way trip to the smelters?"

"We're all abnormal," Jazz said without flinching from the oppressive cage he was held in. "But that's what makes us unique. We're not lower than anyone else and we're no better. We are what we are and we do what we do best."

Sideswipe narrowed his optics, staring at Jazz, trying to decipher his motives. Sunstreaker allowed his brother the contemplative silence, knowing Sideswipe had a better handle on judging character. Sunstreaker didn't have such judgments. He wanted to throttle or terminate them all, regardless.

With a nod Sideswipe disengaged from his twin, their arms falling lax at their side. Jazz remained motionless, not wanting to make any sudden move in case either decided they needed some physical exertion and wanted to take out their stress on him.

"Try to remember that the next time you corner Pit fighters," Sideswipe said, jerking his head in dismissal.

Jazz nodded, looking over his shoulder and gracing Sunstreaker with a crooked grin that the golden mech didn't return.

"Sorry mechs. Like I said, I get carried away," Jazz said, laughter tingeing his voice. "I didn't mean any offense."

"Just remember who you're dealing with," Sideswipe reiterated. He nodded toward the hall and without another word, Sunstreaker sidestepped a stunned Jazz and followed his twin down the corridor. They disappeared without a backward glance.

"Oh, I remember," Jazz said long after the twins departed. He stared at the place where they disappeared, a grin on his face. "But you forget who _**I**_ am."

**OOOOO-IIIIIIIIIII-0000000000-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Just a possible way on how the crews got together. Im working on a back story to better explain the twins and their scores. Its just an idea but hopefully, I can work it out. :D

Love to all!


	43. On the Bright Side

**ON THE BRIGHT SIDE**

Everyone can blame **Starlitdawn** for this chapter. She thought it would be funny if Ratchet was drunk and went out on the front lines. Well, I honestly TRIED to go those lines but the cantankerous fragger wouldn't listen to me. So here's "Ratchet's" version of what happened. (no alcohol was involved but I think he's lying)

I currently have requests from: **wanderling, ditzymusiclover, Akira Alvina, stargazer at moonlight, and two from Aura Black Chan.** The requests are in the pile for future chapters but as of yet, there isn't anything coming to mind. Don't lose spark though! I WILL get to them. You and your requests have not been forgotten or ignored!

HUGE **THANK YOU** TO ALL READERS AND REVIEWERS!

**000000-OOOO-IIIII-00000-OOOO-IIIIII-000000-OOOOOOO**

Sideswipe closed the door behind him, his face so bright with happiness it lit up the room. Sunstreaker scoffed, feeling the giddy sensation in his spark that signaled his twin was up to no good. And by the look on his face, he had already pulled his prank and was waiting to hear the fallout.

Not a good combination when one wanted peace, quiet, and no chance of being sent to the brig for a crime not committed.

"What now?" Sunstreaker asked, knowing his brother was dying to spill the energon on his latest prank.

"Just added a few things to the energon dispenser," Sideswipe grinned, locking the door though it was useless with the Command staff having all their access codes.

"Like what?" Sunstreaker asked. He had been victimized by his brother and his experiments for years. He knew some of the side effects. They weren't pretty.

"Well…. I don't remember everything I put in there," Sideswipe said with a frown. He shrugged and reclined on his berth. "But the first ten cubes are going to have a surprise."

"Thank Primus I already refueled," Sunstreaker said, wondering if he was going to be serving brig time for this prank.

Sideswipe giggled and settled into a light charge, waiting for his name to be inevitably called. It took nearly two hours, but soon Sideswipe was hearing the fruit of his labors.

"Mirage? Mirage, what's wrong?" a voice called out in a panic.

There came a high pitched squealing noise followed by pounding footfalls. The owner of the footfalls disappeared down the distant corridor, and as their thunderous tone disappeared, there came a soft scratching at the twins' door. Sideswipe got up from his berth, grin still firmly planted on his face, and opened the door. As he had expected there was no one in sight.

But something pushed past him and a child like giggle could be heard.

Sunstreaker rose from the berth, his legs swinging over the edge as he sensed another spark enter the room. He knew it was Mirage. Could tell by the broadcasting spark signature. What Sunstreaker didn't like was the fact that the Noble was cloaked and sneaking around again. He'd been chastised several times by the twins in the past. Why he chose to sneak back in after the last thrashing left him hospitalized for a week, Sunstreaker wasn't sure. But he didn't like it.

Then there came the soft giggles.

Sideswipe's grin broadened and he looked to his twin. "Sunny, do you think we're haunted?"

"Obviously," Sunstreaker said, noting the odd distortion on the far left wall. Mirage may be able to cloak, but if one knew how to search, they could find his distorted outline. It was odd that he was giving himself away with the child-like noises. It was almost as if he was playing….with… Oh. Both twins looked to each other in clear understanding.

Mirage must have gotten one of the first ten cubes. And by the way he was acting, it had shut down his adult rationale and was allowing him to relive his sparkling-hood. Oh, this was going to be perfect!

A distinct laugh was heard before being muffled, little electronic chirps escaping as Mirage found the situation funny.

"What do you think we should do?" Sideswipe said, closing the door and pretending to be scared.

"Exorcise it of course," Sunstreaker said. He didn't like the Noble. He didn't want to play games. And he most certainly didn't enjoy having his personal space invaded by an invisible visitor.

"Oh, I'm too scared," Sideswipe said, pretending to cower. "I'm scared of monsters."

"Groowllll!" Mirage said, decloaking and pretending to leap and scratch at the two mechs who he was 'stalking.'

"Oh Primus!" Sideswipe yelled, pressing himself back against the door in mock fear.

Mirage turned to Sunstreaker, who sneered at the uptight mech before Mirage launched himself at the golden warrior. Sunstreaker emitted a startled squawk before finding his lap filled with a giggling, chirping Noble. Sunstreaker looked to his twin in terror.

Hand to hand combat he could handle. Fighting to the death he could handle. Sending a mech to the medical ward was a privilege. Earning the reputation as a mech NOT to cross was a glorious title.

But cuddling a full grown mech who cooed like a sparkling and nuzzled against your chest?

Sunstreaker blew a fuse.

With a soft _pop_ the golden menace that defeated gladiators, took on Megatron and lived to tell the tale, and had been known to massacre thousands, couldn't fathom how he was to react. He keeled over backward, Mirage riding his golden frame down where it _clang_ed onto the berth.

Mirage giggled, pressing his cheek against the golden chest and listened to the spark pulse. He curled up against his warm protector, his systems signaling a shut down. And like a creator and sparkling, Sunstreaker and Mirage reposed on the berth in perfect peace.

Sideswipe smiled, taking a picture of the sweet and 'oh so blackmailable' scene before hearing someone scream. Knowing his twin was just unconscious, Sideswipe slipped out of the door and down the hall. He skidded to a halt finding Ironhide brandishing a chair at the consol, warbling acerbic Cybertronian to the inanimate offender. When the consol beeped about an incoming transmission, Ironhide bellowed a death threat and fired a cannon at the consol. It melted into a pile of slag within seconds, the molten scoria creeping across the floor with apparent sentience.

"Sideswipe?" Jazz called, waving the red frontliner to him. "Do you have a servo in all of this?"

"I just added a little something extra to the energon dispenser," Sideswipe admitted. He couldn't lie to Jazz. The fragger always knew. "It should wear off in an hour or two."

"Slagging perfect," Jazz said, watching as Ratchet went chasing Wheeljack through the base, bellowing about a misbehaving 'sparkling'. Wheeljack was crying like one, so it was a fair assumption.

Prime came running into the commander center, his optics wide.

"Oh frag me backwards," Jazz moaned, knowing Prime had succumbed to the insanity now plaguing the base thanks to Sideswipe.

"Oh Primus, not you to!" Prime declared, looking panic stricken.

"What? You mean, you aren't dosed?" Jazz asked, hope coloring his voice.

"Dosed with what?" Prime asked. He looked from Jazz to Sideswipe, and like a thundercloud rolling in, his optics darkened and narrowed. "Side_swipe_?"

"Umm… yeah?" Sideswipe asked in a timid voice. He knew that tone. He was in trouble.

"You wouldn't happen to have a servo in this… this… insanity? Would you?" Prime asked, already knowing the truth by the guilty look the Lamborghini wore.

"It was just a joke," Sideswipe said with a hurt expression.

"What did you do?" Prime asked, wanting the full account so he could get Ratchet to fix the problem.

"I added a few things to the energon dispenser, but it only affects the first ten cubes," Sideswipe said, giving his leader a look that meant he was remorseful.

Prime didn't fall for it.

"What did you put in?" Prime demanded.

"I don't… umm… remember," Sideswipe admitted. "Honestly! I don't recall everything I put in, but I know it won't last more than an hour, two at the most. I promise!"

"Primus, I hope so," Prime muttered, a shiver running through his massive frame.

"What did you see, Prime?" Jazz asked, having a feeling that it was something bad to get Prime so shook up.

"Gears was being… nice," Prime said, looking like he was going to cry. "And Perceptor was…. was…. well…." Prime paused, thinking how best to put it. No other alternative presented itself. "Perceptor was engaging in …_amorous_ ….situations."

"With who?" Sideswipe asked, optics so wide it looked like he was using two satellite dishes as optics.

"Gears," Prime said, wincing on the words as the scene replayed itself in his cortex. Primus, he was never going to be able to purge his memory cache. "And… a calculator….." he took a deep breath before adding, "And a pogo stick, an electro rod and stasis cuffs."

"For _Gears_?" Jazz asked aghast.

"Kinky,' Sideswipe said, optics still transmitting via satellite.

"Perceptor asked Gears if he would be willing to indulge in a fantasy, Gears said he would be _happy_ too, and the last thing I saw was Perceptor pressing Gears against the work bench, and something was buzzing, they were pawing at each other, gasping, groaning, and by Primus, I had to get out of there!" Prime said, his frame gave another involuntary rattle.

"Slag man, now you have me curious," Sideswipe said, looking toward the direction of the scientists' laboratory.

"Don't go in there!" Prime said, grasping Sideswipe's arm before he could pass by. "I mean it, Sideswipe!"

"Oh…. Slag," Jazz muttered, his optics going wide with realization and fear. "Oh… slag… slag… SLAG!"

And before Prime or Sideswipe knew what was going on, Jazz had ran from the room chanting the mantra. The stoic leader of the Autobots and the ruby frontliner exchanged a look for one point three seconds before following the Porsche as he ran toward the officer's offices.

"What's wrong, Jazz?" Prime yelled, watching as the black and white disappeared around the corner.

Sideswipe felt his tank clench. He knew what lay at the end of that hall. He'd been a visitor enough times.

Prowl's office.

"Oh, slag!" Sideswipe screeched, picking up speed and gaining Jazz's side just as he touched the door and threw it open.

Prowl was sitting at his desk as usual, stylus in one hand, datapad in the other. His doorwings were arched in an elegant sweep, his back straight, but it looked 'feigned.'

"Can I help you?" Prowl asked upon looking toward the disturbance in his doorway.

There was an empty cube sitting on Prowl's desk.

"Prowl, buddy, you feeling alright?" Jazz asked, stepping into the room and looking between the empty cube and Prowl's benign face.

"I've never felt better, Jazz," Prowl answered in his usual tone, though something was… off.

Having been around the SIC for several millennia, all three mechs knew something was amiss. Prowl's normal clipped tone was missing. He kept his answers short and spoke in his ever annoying precise way, but there was a laxness about his frame. The normal poise was missing. Not to mention that with all the mechs currently suffering from some sort of malady caused by Sideswipe's concoction, and other mechs running around trying to contain the situation, Prowl should have been on the proverbial warpath. But he was sitting quietly in his office, working.

Sideswipe canted his head, his olfactory sensor detecting something odd. There was a strange odor. Sideswipe took a deep draught, trying to identify the scent. He could almost place it. It was just there, right on the edge of his consciousness, almost labeled, when his attention was drawn to his worst enemy.

Prowl's hands went lax, dropping the stylus and datapad. His doorwings hitched higher, his venting became harsh and labored, his optics fluttering closed as he tipped his head back. He grasped the desk, his body heaving. There was a cackle of energy across his frame, followed by the pleasurable gasping cry of a Praxian overloading. Doorwings fluttering, body trembling, soft noises escaping from parted lip components, Prowl shuddered hard before collapsing forward on his desk.

The three mechs stood transfixed, unable to move or speak. Until Sideswipe found his vocalizer.

"Was that Prowl's "O" face?" Sideswipe deadpanned.

Prime released a scared noise before turning on his heel and leaving Prowl's office. Jazz soon followed, grabbing Sideswipe's arm as the ruby frontliner kept taking an inhale, now understanding it was the distinct ionized aroma of overload. Prowl's door closed with a snap, Jazz physically marching the Lamborghini down the hall and away from another unfortunate victim.

"So these ingredients you put in the energon," Jazz was saying, trying to distract Sideswipe from any further pranks involving Prowl. "What exactly were they? And are you sure they will wear off in an hour or two?"

"Don't recall everything," Sideswipe admitted, filing away the incriminating evidence to share with his twin when he was able to be rebooted. "And I tested something similar last month. Only lasted a couple of hours. Had some tingling pedes for a day after, and I slept a lot."

"Whatever you concocted," Jazz said with a shake of his head. "It appears it makes mechs become opposite of their normal personality. Or at least perform things they wouldn't do under normal circumstances."

"Cool," Sideswipe said, earning a whack to the helm courtesy of a pissed off Jazz. If Sideswipe's usual keepers were incapacitated and couldn't control his immature nature, then it was up to Jazz to step up.

"Try to remember what you added to the energon," Jazz said, giving Sideswipe's arm a little squeeze to reiterate his point. Wheeljack's crying form went tearing past with Ratchet screaming after him to go take a nap. "Sideswipe, I will personally ensure that Prowl will leave you alone for an entire month if you promise me you will bring me that full list of 'ingredients'."

"Can I have that in writing?" Sideswipe asked, his processor already active with possible pranks to pull off if he was free to do what he wanted for a month.

"Absolutely," Jazz said with his customary 'trust me' grin. "You bring me that list, and I'll ensure that you stay out of the brig or punishment detail for a full month."

Powerglide chose that moment to come 'flying' down the hallway, his arms out at his side and a buzzing airplane noise coming from his vocalizer. He entered the command hub and circled the molten pile of slag that once been the consol that Ironhide enacted his revenge upon. Powerglide continued to circle, drawn in to the changing color of the scoria.

Bumblebee came stomping through the command center, his face drawn down in anger.

"Shut up, Hound, you slagging piece…" Bumblebee was expounding to Hound, who looked extremely upset.

"Bumblebee! That is no way to talk to your Prime!" Hound shouted, his finger pointing at the minibot with sharp relief.

"Oh, Primus," Jazz sighed, wanting so badly to curl up in a dark place and await the tsunami of idiocy.

"This is soooo cool!" Sideswipe crooned, earning another smack to the helm from Jazz.

**- - THREE DAYS LATER - - -**

"You are to remain confined to the brig until Ratchet has had a chance to run a full analysis of every affected mech on base," Prowl was saying, staring at Sideswipe between the energy bars. "Until Ratchet recovers, you are to remain here so that he may deal with you when he is mentally stable."

"He never was to begin with," Sideswipe muttered, resting his chin on his hand.

Prowl growled and left the brooding mech to his thoughts.

The joke didn't seem so funny now.

Ironhide had melted a good portion of consoles, believing that they were Cons in disguise due to the fact that he couldn't contact any of his friends on Cybertron. He didn't understand that millions of years had passed and that he was stranded on another planet.

Hound had sent out multiple orders, demanding others follow his lead as he was a 'Prime.' When he came out of his stupor forty hours later, he was highly embarrassed and the demands he had asked of his comrades. Everyone kept bowing and calling him "Your Primeship", just to watch his face plates heat up.

Gears snapped out of dementia the same time as Perceptor. As both disentangled themselves from a rather risqué position, they went their separate ways without speaking a word. Course Gears complained about the scuff marks along his body and the sensation of feeling tired, but he never voiced a word about the pleasant tingle nor the peace that filled his spark. Perceptor was seen slinking off to the washracks and remained under the spray for a long time, the burnt pieces of a calculator found on the floor sometime later by the cleaning crew.

Wheeljack and Mirage were returned to normal intelligence. Mirage offered apologies to Sunstreaker for charging on the golden warrior but Sunstreaker remained unconscious. His systems were shut down until Ratchet could enact the proper repair to the damaged code and then reboot his systems. Mirage had slipped through the door with a Noble's grace, gliding away like a well satisfied courtesan.

Bumblebee apologized to everyone over and over, explaining he didn't mean to use such course words and vulgar phrases. No one paid him any mind. In fact, several offered a congratulations for a rant and rage well done. Everyone was impressed with the minibots vocabulary.

Powerglide had 'flown' around the base in circles, making himself dizzy, and had collapsed into a fit of giggles. When he was stabilized once again he 'took off' from the Command Hub and flew straight into a bulkhead. When he woke up he was sore but back to his usual self.

No one was more embarrassed than Prowl. Apparently the additives had settled into the tactician's rarely used 'pleasure' center and had initiated an overload every hour on the hour. When Prowl awoke from his forty-third consecutive overload, his overtaxed body had collapsed, forcing him into a deep stasis that allowed him to recover. Eleven hours later he awoke and limped to the washracks, scrubbing away the evidence of his previous activities. After receiving a hasty report from Jazz, he cornered the other black and white and demanded to know the real, _uncensored_ story. When he realized he had overloaded in front _Prime, Jazz and_ _**Sideswipe**_, Prowl locked up and rebooted an hour later. He spent several hours rescrubbing his plating of the evidence of his impromptu side effects.

And after he was presentable, he tracked down Sideswipe and physically dragged him to the brig, where he threw the frontliner in and activated the bars.

Now Sideswipe was sitting alone in a cell with no one to talk to. No one to sense or exchange emotions through a bond, considering Sunstreaker was still knocked out cold on his berth. Half the crew hated him and the other half were planning his dismemberment. And when Sunstreaker woke up, he would probably be the only one who would try such drastic measures.

The only one who had yet to throw off the effects was Ratchet. Apparently the CMO was under the impression that he was a lone care giver in a youngling facility. As the additives started to filter away, Ratchet had moments of lucidity. Which involved realizing who had victimized him, then he threatened to rip the Lamborghini apart in retribution, then followed by a relapse that caused the CMO to 'correct' every Autobot within visual range. Jazz made sure to put Sideswipe in Ratchet's field of vision and laughed himself silly as the CMO spanked the protesting frontliner.

Jazz stopped laughing when Ratchet turned his ire to him and pulled the Porsche over his lap and spanked the TIC.

Sideswipe was in the brig for a grand total of eighteen minutes when the alarm sounded. The energy bars deactivated and he raced out, knowing he was called to action. He skidded into the Command Hub just in time to hear Prime yell, "Roll out!"

"Where are we going?" Sideswipe asked Jazz.

"Power plant two miles from here," Jazz said sending a databurst with full information.

Sideswipe took up position in front of Prime, his scanners on alert for Decepticons. He wished Sunstreaker was with him. He really missed his twin. He didn't like being so alone.

"Seekers, one o'clock!" Sideswipe yelled out, transforming and igniting his jet pack.

The approaching seekers scattered, trying to avoid the flying Autobot and his weapon's fire. Sideswipe whooped and catcalled, flying among the clouds and chasing after Starscream. He was shot in the leg by Skywarp who teleported in and fired on the surprised Lamborghini. Sideswipe landed on top of a Conehead as he was passing by and like a roller coaster enthusiast, Sideswipe yelled in appreciation.

Prime transformed and jumped on Megatron, sending the duo tumbling along the uneven Earth. Megatron cursed a storm, Prime shushing the warlord and correcting his grammar. Megatron was so enthralled in the fight that the oddity of the situation didn't sink in.

Autobots and Decepticons jumped into battle, Astrotrain taking off with a shipment of energon cubes. He was guarded by Blitzwing and Thundercracker, who had scattered the Autobots below with a sonic bomb.

Astrotrain was a dot on the horizon when Thundercracker returned to his trine mates. Starscream was catcalling the Conehead that had a Lamborghini ornament, making both Thundercracker and Skywarp blush with the Air Commanders sullied mouth. It was when Starscream landed and aimed a volley of shots toward Megatron and Prime that a voice thundered above the din.

"That will be enough of that language!" Ratchet roared, smacking the cassette twins and leaving them dazed on the ground.

Starscream kept taunting and firing, though with his horrible aim he missed his targets by a wide margin. He missed the stern look being cast around the battlefield.

Ratchet had his hands on his hips. The explosions rocked the foundations of the power plant in the distance. Weapon's fire filled the air, smoke coiling high into the sky, and all manner of assorted languages and expressions filling the airwaves. A loud **boom** went off, causing the unsuspecting mechs to stagger. Mechs screamed in pain, yelled obscenities, cursed the ones who caused such turmoil, and fists were flying everywhere.

Ratchet had had enough.

"Alright! Nap time!" Ratchet yelled over the whole battlefield.

The mechs closest immediately halted their actions. The Autobots knew what was coming and dropped to the ground, sitting like sparklings awaiting their caregiver. The Decepticons stood transfixed, unable to comprehend what was happening. Ratchet stalked to the nearest Decepticon and clocked him upside the helm, sending him crashing to the ground next to the submissive Autobot.

Prime halted his struggle against Megatron, gave the fierce warlord a wide optic look and sat down. He looked up to Megatron, his expression clearly meaning the mighty leader of the Decepticon army was to plant his white aft on the ground next to his mortal enemy.

"What are you doing, Prime?" Megatron asked, perturbed by his arch enemy's odd behavior.

"Sit down and shut up," Prime snapped, grasping Megatron's wrist and jerking him downward to join the esteemed Prime on the ground.

Megatron opened his mouth to protest but his optics raked the battlefield and realized that many of the Autobots were dropping onto their afts and sitting like scolded sparklings. A _clang_ and _bang_ signaled that a Decepticon had been too slow in moving and ended up dazed upon the ground, the Autobot CMO poised above him with hands on hips.

"What is going on?" Megatron snarled.

Prime's hand shot out and slapped across his counterparts lip components, his optics going wide in shock. "Shhh! You'll draw his attention."

"Mmhhppptttt?" Megatron managed to say through Prime's oppressing digits.

"Ratchet ingested energon that Sideswipe had tainted. His systems are having a hard time distributing the additives causing his processor to misinterpret information and cause hallucinations," Prime explained, earning an optic roll from Megatron.

Apparently the Decepticon warlord didn't realize the strength and despotic behavior that could be implemented by the CMO. His education was brought up to speed as he watched his idiotic winged Air Commander launch into a tirade at the CMO for hitting Skywarp, when Ratchet moved so quickly, he was a blur of white. Megatron watched in wide optic fascination as Ratchet stormed to the winged menace, unafraid and looking just as murderous as Megatron when his nerve circuits were past their endurance. Though instead of yelling threats and punching Starscream, Ratchet let loose a long verbal stream of assorted curses that earned instant appraisal and respect from both factions. His trusted wrench made one tiny, pinpoint strike and like a drunken butterfly, Starscream flapped his arms, spun around in a clumsy pirouette and face planted into the ground, his aft sticking up in the air as consciousness fled from his frame.

"The other affected mechs were back to normal in a day or two," Prime whispered to his now shocked enemy. "But Ratchet's systems are different. He believes he's caretaker to sparklings and enacts this hallucination until the additives filter through his systems and allow him to become lucid again."

Megatron removed Prime's hand, his face one of disbelief.

"This is your best assault upon the Decepticon forces?" Megatron asked, his customary sneer lighting up his face. "You would have me to believe your _**medical officer**_ is fantasizing that we are his charges?"

Prime nodded, feeling his tank threatening to purge when he heard the thunderous footfalls of his doom come storming up to his side. He let out an un-adult like whimper before closing his optics.

"**What** is going on here?" Ratchet demanded, his optics sparkling in anger.

Megatron felt his ire rise. He was no one's sparkling. He was not under the protective graces of a carrier, perceived or otherwise. He was almost as old as the towering Autobot. He was a warlord. A leader. One to be feared and obeyed. How dare this mentally deranged usurper undermine his leadership of his army. Their commands were issued from his vocalizer, not a hallucinating medical officer.

Megatron gained his pedes, standing a full head taller than Ratchet. His armor puffed in ritual display, showing his aggressive stance against the other posturing male. He wasn't going to take orders nor submit to a perceived superior.

"Sit down you fool," Prime hissed under his breathing function.

"I asked what was going on," Ratchet repeated, his voice dropping into the level that meant certain punishment to all errant sparklings.

Prime cringed. He knew what was coming.

"Knock him on his slagging aft!" Sideswipe crowed from where he was sitting with two of the Coneheads.

"I said enough of that language," Ratchet snapped, causing Sideswipe to give his most innocent and adorable look. It didn't work.

"I am the leader of the Decepticons!" Megatron roared, his fusion cannon warming up with impending doom. "I do not take orders from you!"

"I don't care who you think you are," Ratchet roared right back, causing Megatron to falter and take a step back. Ratchet advanced, ignorant of the hissing cannon that could end his life. "When an adult gives you an order, you will follow it. I don't care if you think you're Prime. You WILL obey!"

Megatron's indignation was cut short as something solid connected with his head, sending him reeling in a dizzy whirlwind of color. He felt the ground collide with his knees before rough hands grabbed the scruff of his neck and spun him around onto his aft. He landed with an undignified thump, his vision still awhirl with color.

"You raise your voice to me again and I'll beat your aft off of your frame," Ratchet threatened. He cast a glare at Prime, who immediately bowed his head in submission.

Megatron could only offer a jumbled protest that died in his vocalizer as Ratchet gave him a warning shake.

"Now, I said it was nap time," Ratchet said, releasing his hold on the Decepticon warlord and pushing him toward the ground. "Lie down and charge. If you refuse, you will regret it."

Prime splayed himself on the ground in contrite innocence when Ratchet looked to him in expectation. With a satisfied smirk, Ratchet stormed off to put the next 'sparkling' down for a nap. Megatron rolled to his side, then onto his front, his head still swimming with the dehabilitating blow.

"What… is wrong with that crazy fragger?" Megatron whispered to his enemy, his vision slowly discerning Ratchet stalking through the battlefield, rendering soldiers inert on the ground in an imposed nap time.

"Apparently Ratchet's systems cant handle the additives that Sideswipe put in the dispenser," Prime whispered, rolling onto his front, his shoulder inches away from Megatron's own. "They have collected in his main distribution center, causing his processor to revert back to the time he was a caretaker at a youngling center. When they filter through, he'll become lucid again."

"What kind of additive are we talking about?" Megatron asked, his vision clearing in time to see Soundwave forcefully shoved onto his back. Ravage and Lazerbeak taking up positions next to the master in timid obedience, curling up next to Soundwave's chest and settling down like good mannered sparklings.

"I have no idea,' Prime said, turning to look at Megatron. "But rest assured I will be banning the substance from base."

"Are we all this susceptible to the additive?" Megatron asked, his tank clenching with the thought of him parading around demanding that grown adults have to take a nap in the middle of a warzone.

"I don't know,' Prime admitted. "Ratchet is the only one who can determine the side effects and right now, his processor is too addled to be of assistance."

"I never thought I'd say this, but I want to go back to Nemesis," Megatron said, watching as Ratchet engaged in a stare down with Prowl. In the blink of an optic the tactician froze up and keeled over, Ratchet's smirk lighting up the battle field like a star.

"I hope this filters through his system soon," Prime said, hefting a heavy gust of air through his vents. "He's already punished half of the Autobot ranks and keeps demanding we have naps and early bedtime."

"He's been influenced too much by human culture," Megatron added, watching as Ratchet graced Bumblebee with an affectionate pat and murmured words of endearment.

"Too much, I'm afraid," Prime said, finding the scene to be rather nice, if not odd. "He washed Ironhide's mouth out with solvent, sent Prowl to his room, took Jazz's stereo away, grounded Powerglide, and has spanked almost every one of us."

Megatron's head turned in slow motion, his optics wide as he stared at his most hated enemy.

Prime didn't seemed fazed by his mortal enemy as he continued, "I must admit, it's been nice to avoid paperwork and the endless datapads that all demand attention and immediate action."

"I refuse to do it," Megatron said, gathering his wits once again. "I make Starscream deal with the finer points of running the Decepticon army."

"Lucky,' Prime said, wanting to laugh at the idle conversation the two were having. It was like they were younglings again. "Right now, I'd enjoy a good human negotiation and inventory supply list than being forced to 'color'."

"Color?" Megatron asked, watching as Ratchet slipped between inert bodies to ascertain who was talking too loudly.

Prime waited a moment as Ratchet sourced out the problem and optics narrowing, stalked toward Sideswipe.

"Ratchet says we're too young for datapads and seeing war related materials," Prime whispered, watching as Ratchet grasped Sideswipe by his scruff bar and hauled him to his feet. "So we spend an hour every day coloring pictures."

"Sounds horrible," Megatron said, his optics now transfixed on Sideswipe's protesting form as Ratchet directed them to a boulder.

"It's actually quite relaxing," Prime said, not bothering to come to his soldier's defense. Sideswipe had it coming. In more ways than one.

"I should try it," Megatron admitted, hiding his smirk as Ratchet sat on the boulder and pulled Sideswipe to him.

With an undignified squawk, Sideswipe was clipped on the helm, disorienting him. His indignity rose when he felt Ratchet's legs press against his chest and then the sharp sting of the medic's hand as he brought it down, hard, on the frontliner's aft. Loud reports echoed across the now silent landscape. Each thundering clang was punctuated by Sideswipe's yelp of pain and cries of innocent protests.

Megatron's shoulder shook with laughter as he watched the Autobot CMO spank the insane front line warrior as if he were nothing more than a disobedient sparkling. He turned his ruby optics to Prime, noting the blue optics was twinkling with mirth as he too suppressed his laughter.

A particularly loud clap ended the verbal barrage and without looking toward the whimpering soldier, Megatron whispered, "I'm soooo glad he's on _**your**_ side."

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**Reviews fuel the muse and make the updates quicker!**


	44. A Streak of Genius

**A Streak of Genius**

**Aka- Oh, Primus, What've Done?**

**(May be retitled at a later date)**

Thank you to all reviewers! You guys are awesome and I leave messages in inboxes to those who have that enabled. To those who don't, I wish to express my gratitude and sparkfelt THANKS for all you've written. The reviews make my day a LOT brighter. :D

WELCOME to the newcomers! Feel free to drop me a line or a request. I promise they WILL be done, just no idea on the timeline. :D

**AN: **Short one here folks! Don't really have anything longer to post and I don't want you to think I've forgotten ya. Its been REALLY hectic this past week with my back out and having my heart to flutter/stop on occasion. Haven't had a chance to sit and really write, let alone plot to the twins' standards.

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'**Sideswipe, I need to speak with you,'** Prowl called through the comms.

Sideswipe continued to laugh with his friends in the rec room while he acknowledged the summons. **'On my way.'**

Sideswipe nudged his brother, who was uncommonly social as of late. When Sunstreaker showed no desire of moving aside, Sideswipe shoved him. Sunstreaker shoved back. Sideswipe shoved harder. Sunstreaker drew back his fist with every intention of correcting his brother on the wrong assumption that one can shove the gorgeous mech and not suffer consequences, when Sideswipe's irate glare burned into his spark.

"Prowl just commed me," Sideswipe snapped, giving his brother another shove to prove his vehemence. "If I'm late, he'll trump up some stupid charge and then I'll be stuck doing who knows what with who knows who and if I'm going to be jailed for being late, then I'm dragging your aft into the equation and you can suffer with me."

Sunstreaker lowered his fist and moved aside, allowing his brother the chance to leave the booth. His scowl was deep as he glared at his twin. He didn't want to be alone with the other mechs. They got on his nerve function. One or two was okay but four was asking too much of the golden Lamborghini. He was just learning to come out of his preverbal shell, but still needed his twin nearby to deflect the majority of the attention. Sideswipe was the natural life of the party. Sunstreaker was just the observing optics that watched everyone enjoy themselves without partaking in the fun himself. He wasn't programmed for group activities unless it meant beating the slag out of someone or terminating them . He was good at both. But that was a very limited resume when it came to social skills.

"I'll be back shortly," Sideswipe said giving a nod to Hound, Jazz, Bumblebee, and Hoist. Mirage nodded in greeting as Sideswipe passed.

The noble made for the only occupied table and sat down beside of Sunstreaker, expecting him to slide in and allow the Tower brat to rest his cube on the table. Sunstreaker remained motionless, except his lip plating, and that curled as soon as the Noble made for their table. Mirage gave Sunstreaker a long suffering sigh and scooted to where he was seated more at the neighboring table than with the group.

Sunstreaker felt his ire rise upon seeing the tower brat and snapped to his pedes. In a few strides he was out of the rec room and heading toward the open road for a long, and hopefully Red Alert-free, drive. He saw Sideswipe disappear into the command Hub before following Prowl out, the Praxian lost in thought as he read a report on a datapad. Needing solitude, Sunstreaker left, racing to destinations unknown. Had he would have stayed, he would have been stupefied at what Prowl was perusing and even more shocked as to why the Praxian asked Sideswipe to join him.

"Walk with me," Prowl commanded, his pedes as ever, light upon the floor.

Sideswipe fell into step, noting that though Prowl was of heavier build, he barely made a sound with his pedefalls. It was rather creepy. A mech that big shouldn't be able to sneak around so quietly, especially if he didn't reveal his secret to those who could put such talent to good use.

"I need you to pull a prank," Prowl said, highlighting a section of the screen for later dissection. He was several steps away when he realized he was alone. He turned, finding Sideswipe standing frozen, one pede having yet to descend to the floor with his last step. It look like Wheeljack froze him again. "Sideswipe, are you functional?"

Sideswipe shuttered his optics for a moment, placed his pede upon the ground and opened his optics in slow motion. Prowl stood a few paces away looking concerned.

"I think I need to have my audios checked," Sideswipe said, taking the few steps toward his superior officer. He shook his helm and rubbed his temples as he gained Prowl's side. "I could have sworn you told me to pull a prank."

"I did," Prowl said in that flat tone that got him laughed at more often than anyone cared to admit. How he could deliver some of the most hysterical, perverted, or downright sadistic one-liners and not crack a smile was anyone's guess. It seemed unnatural. No one should have such a neutral expression.

"What?" Sideswipe asked in a little gush of air. He shook his helm again to clear the fog but Prowl merely waited in his ever patient way as he gained control over himself.

"Stop shaking your helm," Prowl said, wondering how the frontliner didn't make himself dizzy with such actions. "You look like a dog twitching with fleas."

Sideswipe's optical ridge shot up, expecting to see Prowl crack a smile but as ever, he was passive. He sighed inwardly before mustering up the courage to ask, "Why do you need me to pull a prank?"

"Not a prank per say," Prowl amended, motioning for Sideswipe to follow him toward his office. "It is merely an unplanned eruption to daily life to precipitate the odd occurrence of a Decepticon infiltration and to ascertain our ability to prepare and engage in unexpected combat."

"What?" Sideswipe asked, not sure he was understanding his parameters.

"I want you to set up a simulation," Prowl paused, turning to look at Sideswipe and reiterating in a clear tone, "**Simulation** only, of a Decepticon attack. As our troops are caught unaware, I will evaluate each of them for efficiency, accuracy, and response to unexpected, critical situations."

The duo turned the corner that lead to Prowl's office. The door stood as always, in taunting orange and glaring brighter than the hull.

"I don't get it," Sideswipe said, staring at Prowl as if the Praxian had lost his mind. There was a good chance the glitch had done permanent damage. "You want me to fake a Con attack so you can watch how everyone will react?"

"In the past we had the constant threat of Decepticon incursion," Prowl explained. His door wings hitched a little higher, causing Sideswipe to pay particularly close attention. "With the limited Decepticons available on Earth, and the high concentration of human populace, I need to evaluate everyone to ensure we are not falling lax in our duties and become too complacent with the sparse engagements thus far."

"You want to make sure everyone doesn't get lazy and put the fear of Primus into them in case we're ever attacked for real?" Sideswipe surmised. "Just because the Cons aren't as active, we now have other civilians to consider for casualties."

"Precisely," Prowl nodded. "Since I can no longer do such evaluations due to the lack of constant battles and limited access to training areas, I must…" Prowl paused, flicking a doorwing in agitation before amending, "_Improvise_."

Sideswipe still looked shocked and somewhat skeptical. There was a good chance he was a second away from comming Ratchet for assistance.

"If you have any questions, you may ask Prime for clarification," Prowl insisted, that annoyed expression flittering across his face. It seemed to be the only expression he could present.

Sideswipe narrowed his optics, trying to understand the situation. No, Prowl had never come to him with such a request before. No, Prowl wasn't the joking type. Prowl wouldn't suggest he go to Prime if this was not already approved by the higher ups. Yes, it was most definitely doable. Yes, Sideswipe had correlating ideas and multiple props. Yes he was looking forward to scaring the oil out of everyone. Yes, he was feeling that tingling in his circuits that meant good, violent and potentially devastating things were going to happen.

He would take it as a personal insult if someone was unaffected by the calamity he was formulating.

"You must inform Prime and myself of your intentions so we may be prepared and conduct our own evaluations accordingly," Prowl said, putting down the ground rules before Sideswipe got carried away and his audios shut down. He had a habit of doing that.

"You're _actually_ giving me permission to do this" Sideswipe asked, staring slack jawed at Prowl. It was like all the Earth holidays rolled into one!

"Yes," Prowl said, feeling that a burning sensation that only Sideswipe could accomplish. "I grant you permission and have already spoken to Prime about requisitioning your services, as it were. We both condone the choice and await your suggestions for approval."

Sideswipe made a noise of surprise and joy, the sound coming out like a strangled owl. His body tensed, his hands clapped together and a high pitched whine filled the air as he got his mental cogs to working. Like a streaking meteorite he was gone, his burning trail left in his wake that disappeared around the corner.

Prowl offered a soft whimper before entering his office and finding the softest place on the floor to crash. He could deal with the processor aches when he woke up. Right now, he wanted to be blissfully unaware and allow Sideswipe free reign to plot his scenarios.

All the processor aches and the ensuing aggravated bots when they realized this whole thing was a test was going to push Prowl's seemingly limitless patience. But he wasn't going to back down nor ignore a direct order. Prime had held a valid point in noticing his troops weren't as alert and responsive as they should be. Why Prowl immediately thought of Sideswipe and even broached the subject with the esteemed leader, the Praxian would never know. He succumbed to the shut down, knowing he was going to be hearing a lot of asinine, childish, and potentially hazardous scenarios when Sideswipe finished his scheming.

Primus. He must be delusional.

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I don't know what the fragger was planning and I don't care to know. I claim plausible deniability! There are no plans to further this insanity, but I may continue at a later time, given the right incentive. :D

Read…. Review… Make author happy…. Twins continue to survive without scratches…..


	45. The Other Side

**The Other Side**

HUGE THANK YOU TO ALL REVIEWERS! The positive emotion coming from this fic is enough to send me into orbit! Its been just wonderful! Thank you all for your kind words, and inspiration. I have a request almost finished, so hopefully, I can upload it shortly, RL permitting!

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Starscream wanted to pace so badly, but the injury to his right thruster prevented his mobility and subsequently, his transformation. He was in no condition to be pacing, but the fact that the simple act had been banished from him made it all the more desirable. He settled for sitting on the side of the too small berth, tapping his left thruster against the metal. The action didn't do anything to quell the intense need for motion the seeker craved, so regardless of medical advice, he stood up on his injured thruster. And squawked, cursed, and landed with an undignified _clank_ onto the berth.

Primus he hated inactivity.

He hated being injured.

And he slagging hated being stuck in the enemy brig! Slag Megatron for leaving him behind when an arrant shot from the Autobot sniper clipped his wing. As he performed the tightest corkscrew maneuver ever attempted, a blazing fire swept along his thrusters and destroyed the majority of the circuitry. A small part of his CPU wondered if the tyrant hadn't shot him as he spiraled out of control toward enemy lines. He wouldn't put it past him. Primus knows Starscream had taken such pot shots at his leader when he was down. Slagger deserved them, in the seeker's opinion.

So here he was, locked away in a cell clearly designed for a ground frame, with a busted thruster and a horrible processor ache from landing upside down on a hard, metallic body. He had intended on taking out an Autobot with his landing (he refused to admit to a **crash**), but his injury was so severe he lost consciousness before he had targeted anyone in particular. The only proof he had of his impromptu landing was the violent streaking of red paint and the unfocused rantings of an enraged medic as he applied a rough field patch. Next thing Starscream knew he woke up in a cell and was unable to stretch his wings in the cramped space.

Distant voices drew his attention to the hall, where the lights blazed so brightly it made the orange walls glow like an inferno. Starscream narrowed his optics, hearing the voices become more distinct. With a sinking feeling he realized who was coming to torment him.

Those two blasted twins that enjoyed launching themselves at the seekers. Well, Starscream wasn't going to back down from a fight, whether it was verbal or physical, but he be slagged if he allowed them to get the upper hand. After millions of years, there were thousands of nights spent with his trinemates wondering about the complexity of the Autobot twins and their unnatural obsession with anything with wings. He had a rather lengthy resume of questions and insults that would no doubt put the troublesome duo in their place. And if he ever made it back to the Nemesis, hopefully he'd have some answers and maybe win a bet or two.

Soon the twins entered the brig, the red one trying to assuage the grim look his golden twin wore.

"How was I supposed to know the stupid Cons would attack and it would throw my timetable off?" Sideswipe was saying, completely oblivious to their audience.

"You should never use a timer," Sunstreaker grunted, optics glowering. "It's only a matter of time…."

The duo stopped directly opposite of Starscream, though they kept their backs to his cell. Instead they faced the two empty cells across from the caged seeker and continued their conversation.

"I've tried using remotes," Sideswipe said, a touch of sullenness in his voice. "They're easier to detect if you're actively broadcasting. Red's caught on. I've had to change the game plan."

Sunstreaker snorted in disgust and without invitation, stepped into the left cell. Sideswipe offered a partial shrug and entered the right. Both turned and planted themselves on the berths, facing the Decepticon captive on the other side. Starscream offered a curled sneer, just waiting for the jibes, but the twins paid him no mind.

Sideswipe stretched out on the berth, tucking his arms behind his head and staring up the ceiling. He had to raise his voice so his brother could hear. "You know, we're in here so often, why do we even bother having quarters? Shouldn't we just move our berths down here and make it permanent? Seems such a waste of space."

Sunstreaker ignored the glaring seeker and assumed the same position as his brother before answering. "I bet if you asked Prowl, he'd freeze up and Ratchet would have our ball bearings on a silver platter for spazzing him out again."

"Yeah, don't want to irritate the one who can pull your plugs out through your muffler," Sideswipe agreed.

Starscream looked between the two, clearly at a loss as to why they were there. No one had escorted them and the bars hadn't been activated. They were free mechs to do what they please, and yet they ventured to the brig of their own accord? Starscream narrowed his optics at the two, wondering if they were playing some sort of mind game with him. It wasn't usual for them to ignore an enemy and carry on a conversation as if no one else was around. He opened his mouth to start the verbal sparring, when suddenly there was a loud clanging noise, followed by a small explosion.

A small part of Starscream perked up, thinking his comrades had come to his rescue, but with the relaxed look the twins were still sporting, it was unlikely there was a rescue campaign. His curiosity increased when he noticed Sideswipe hold up his hand, fingers splayed and started a countdown.

"Five…Four…Three... Two….One…." Sideswipe called, ticking off his fingers. Before he could announce the reason like a side show charlatan, a voice thundered throughout the base.

"Sideswipe! Sunstreaker!" The voice was definitely the Second In Command's. And boy did he sound pissed!

Sideswipe offered a happy chirp, before changing his demeanor into one of abject supplication. He answered via the ships internal comms, "We're already in the brig."

A sputtering hiss filled the intercom before a rough static-filled noise announced that control had once again been regained. "One week! You know the drill!"

"Yeah, which is why we're in here in the first place," Sunstreaker snapped back. He was already in trouble for something Sideswipe did, he may as well do something to earn his punishment. Riling up Prowl seemed to be a good idea.

As Starscream leaned against the edge of his berth, he stared at the twins in confusion. Apparently they not only made Decepticons miserable, but they did things to their own teammates as well. Starscream wondered briefly if they had been in communiqué with Skywarp, who was just as notorious for that little quirk.

Just as Starscream opened his mouth to inquiry about the twins level of sanity, there came the footfalls of Cybertronian feet. Prowl literally erupted into the hall, his steps so heavy they rang like church bells for the two doomed soldiers. He stopped in front of their cells, looking from one to the other, his doorwings arched so high in a "**V**" that it looked quite uncomfortable. Starscream winced slightly.

"Explain yourselves!" Prowl demanded.

"Jazz always schedules the game in the afternoon," Sideswipe started, trying to look as innocent as possible. It didn't work. "I was hoping to get him because you know how he keeps saying that he's too highly trained and no one has been able to get the drop on him."

Prowl offered a curt nod but didn't speak.

"Well, it really gets on a mechs nerves," Sideswipe said, now acting irritated. "I mean, I have a reputation to uphold! I couldn't let him continue to brag about being so good he'd never be caught unaware."

"So you deemed it necessary to tar and feather him?" Prowl asked, one doorwing giving a little twitch. **Not** a good sign. His hand slammed down on the control box a bit **too** hard. Both cells alighted with bars, keeping the three combatants safely away from each other. It could have been interpreted as Prowl's way of instating their punishment, but in truth, the tactician needed the physical barrier between him and the Pit-Spawned troublemakers else he'd throttle the both of them.

"I didn't use real tar, just some children's glue with food coloring. It'll come off with a good wash," Sideswipe said, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. Didn't seem to sink in that his Commanding Officer was standing just a few feet away and his hands were ready to exact revenge. Course there was high energy bars separating them, so that could have bolstered Sideswipe's spinal strut. The only thing on Sideswipe's processor though was his beautifully planned prank and the results. Suddenly Sideswipe perked up, rising on the berth, optics wide as they gleamed in mischief. "Did I get him? Is my record now intact?"

"Your record will continue to grow as long as Prime allows you two to function in this army," Prowl said coolly, trying and failing to calm down. The last thing he needed was his own record detailing his dismemberment of two soldiers and subsequent, though well deserved, courts martial and incarceration. "But to answer your questions," and he allowed himself a malicious sneer that caught the two frontliners by surprise, "No, you didn't get Jazz. You got Smokescreen, Hound, Mirage, and Ironhide."

"Ouch," Sunstreaker muttered, knowing that Smokescreen held a grudge like no other. Mirage could easily cloak and make your life miserable. Ironhide could shoot you and not think twice. The only one who would be able to take the joke was Hound, but since he had just been discharged from the infirmary, there was a chance the 'innocent glue' could cause unexpected and unintentional side effects. And that would bring Ratchet into the mix of retribution seekers.

It was not looking good for the twins. Their life expectancy just lowered considerably.

The sound of a pissed off mech approaching echoed down the corridor. It didn't take long for Ironhide to appear, though it was hard to discern the weapon's master as he was covered in thick black, syrupy strands and accented by numerous multicolored feathers. He went straight to the black and white commander and shoved a cube of energon in his hands before offering a leering snarl to the two cells occupants then stormed off. His steps disappeared before the twins pulled themselves from their stupor.

"He looked good," Sunstreaker snorted.

Prowl's optics narrowed into slits. "Your punishment detail consists of one week in the brig, followed by a month of cleaning and maintenance duty in the Med Bay."

Both twins started at the announcement. They expected the brig time and maybe some menial work, but to be ordered into Ratchet's domain while their transgression was still fresh? It wasn't a good combination.

"Would it help my case to know that I didn't have a hand in the trap, or in its planning?" Sunstreaker asked, wishing Prowl would just order the firing squad and be done with it.

"No," Prowl snapped.

"Figured not," Sunstreaker groused, plopping back on the berth and draping an arm over his optics.

"Traitor," Sideswipe growled from his cell, sending his twin a dark thrum through their bond.

"Every mech for himself when Hatchet's involved," Sunstreaker answered, not perturbed by his twin or Commander.

"You know the rules," Prowl said, feeling so angry he could probably wipe out the entire Decepticon faction without pause.

"Yeah, yeah," Sideswipe said, nonchalantly. "We're the reason why the rules were written."

"Well, at least you get a new season to entertain you," Prowl said cryptically, earning dual looks of shocked fear.

Whatever put the twins on such edge didn't bode well for Starscream. He felt a chill run along his spinal strut. Something about the way these three had a battle of the wills… it was very unsettling. Suddenly Prowl turned, facing the other captive in the cell block. Out of habit, Starscream pushed himself further back on the berth, trying to put as much distance between himself and the crazed Autobots as possible. Sadly, in a cell, there was only so far a seeker could go. His wings bumped the wall, resigning him to his fate.

Prowl stalked to the seeker's cell and placed the energon cube in a drawer. With a code he closed the hatch, pushing it through the wall, where it protruded into Starscream's cell. The lid automatically flipped up, revealing the cube.

"Drink," Prowl commanded sternly.

Usually Starscream would bristle at being _ordered_ by anyone, but today he did the wise thing and held his vocalizer. He slid from the berth and hobbled the few paces to the offered cube and picked it up, his optics never leaving his captor.

"It hasn't been tampered with," Prowl added, noting the seekers reluctance to drink. Truthfully the cube **had** been tampered with, but only with additives and a special nutritional blend designed for seekers. When Ratchet had hastened through Starscream's repairs, he had noticed the seeker was vastly undernourished. Megatron had yet to contact the Autobots with demands of his Air Commander's return, so Ratchet was going to use his captivity as a means to replenish his systems.

Starscream looked at the glowing purple fuel and felt his tanks churn. It had been ages since he had a decent amount of pure energon, and from the soft fumes coming from the cube, it was a rather potent grade, just perfect for a seeker's frame. His systems flashed warnings across his diagnostic relay and with reluctance, he downed the cube in a few easy gulps. If he was going to mount an escape, he needed his strength.

The fuel tingled on the way down, and as soon as it hit his tanks, his absorption relays kicked into gear. A warmth spread over his frame, enveloping his body and soothing across his wings. He gave an involuntary moan, ignoring the small part of his processor that was suggesting he save some for his wingmates. But it tasted sooooo good….

When the warmth had passed, he placed the cube back into the slot and pressed the return button. Remembering who was glaring at him from the other side of the bars, his smugness returned. When Prowl picked up the empty cube, Starscream sneered. "I'll have another, Barkeep."

Prowl's optics darkened and for a moment, Starscream was sure the stoic Second was going to disengage the energy bars and twist his wings into submission. Megatron did it so often, Starscream could recognize the look before the action. Considering the foul mood the tactician was in and the still supercilious looks the twins wore, the seeker was treading in highly dangerous waters.

Prowl gave a curt nod and said, "Ratchet will be by shortly with another cube."

"What?" Starscream asked, completely shocked to learn he was getting what he wanted. Something that like never happened on Nemesis.

"He believes that you should have a cube every four hours, but if you feel so inclined, you can have as much as you need," Prowl said, some of his anger dissipating now that he wasn't facing two pain in the aft glitches.

Starscream stared speechless at the Second. The first time in recorded history _**that**_ has been accomplished.

Without another word, Prowl spun on his heel and left, not daring to look into the opposite cells. It was a good thing too, because he was receiving a lecherous grin and snarling scowl.

When Prowl was gone, Sideswipe called across the hall, "Hey Screamer!"

Starscream snapped out of his stunned stupor to stare at the red menace. "Don't call me that!"

Ignoring the irate glare sent his way, Sideswipe smiled and continued on as if he wasn't receiving the worlds deadliest glare. "Just wanted to let you know that was an _awesome_ landing."

"Shut up!" Starscream snarled, his temper emboldened by the warm energon. "Some fool shot me down!"

"Yeah, that was much was obvious," Sunstreaker added, enjoying the rage now smoldering behind crimson optics. "Your thrusters were on fire and were you screaming like a feme."

Starscream's hands curled into fists. His voice was a very touchy subject. But before he could launch into a tirade, Sideswipe cut across.

"Well, whether someone shot you or not, the fact remains that you couldn't have performed a better landing even if you had months to practice!" Sideswipe crowed, rising up on the berth and sitting on the edge. His face was alight with genuine amusement. "Prime never saw you coming!"

"I could…..co…" Starscream's anger ebbed away, replaced by confusion. It took a moment for Sideswipe's words to sink in. He could only stare dumbly at the opposite cell. "Prime?"

"Yeah, it was fantastic!" Sideswipe whooped, giving the seeker a beaming smile. "Prime and Megs were fighting, Megatron somehow gained the upper hand, had Prime lined up, and here you drop in and land right on top of Prime, deflecting Megatron's shot!"

"I did what?" Starscream asked, looking over the red streaks against his white plating. "I landed on …Prime?"

"Knocked him out," Sunstreaker said, a rare smile gracing his face.

"Megs was slagged off!" Sideswipe added, his face still beaming with excitement. "He was ready to end Prime and here you fall in, knock him out, and took Megs' glory!"

Starscream allowed himself a smirk. Anything he could do to get under Megatron's plating was good, and the fact that he performed this particular stunt while unconscious only further aggrieved the tyrant.

"Everyone thought Megs had taken out Prime, so everyone concentrated their fire on Megs, which caused him to order an immediate retreat," Sideswipe continued, enjoying having a rapt audience. "Megs tucked tailpipes and disappeared and we found you passed out on top of Prime."

"Priceless," Sunstreaker snickered.

"Did I terminate him?" Starscream asked eagerly. It would have been glorious if he took out their more feared rival. It would make Megatron's humiliation double.

"Naw, just knocked him cold," Sideswipe said, oblivious to the disappointed look on the seeker's face. "He came to a few minutes later, saw how bad you were injured and ordered Ratchet to patch you up."

Starscream examined his thruster and with a disgruntled noise, realized that not only had the burns been attended to, but several circuits that had been disabled for quite some time were starting to come online.

Just as Sideswipe mentioned the medic, his bulk came through the door like a snowstorm. He stomped to the seekers cell and deposited the cube in the small drawer as Prowl had done, and punched in his code. With a beep it sealed on the outside and reopened inside the cell.

"Drink it slowly," Ratchet said with a dark glower. "Don't need you getting overcharged."

"Why not?" Sideswipe asked, hiding his amusement when Ratchet visibly stiffened at his voice. "It's not like we have decent entertainment around here. A drunk Screamer could be very entertaining."

Starscream grabbed the cube and hobbled back to his berth, trying to put as much distance as possible away from the medic, who now looked ready to erupt. Ratchet whirled on the twins, his plating radiating heat in a mirage effect as he slowly stepped toward their cells. He resembled a predatory ghost, ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey.

"You just wait until your sentence is up," he breathed, his voice coming out as a raspy growl.

Starscream wanted to run and hide at the tone. He nearly fell over when both twins offered partial shrugs in answer, not perturbed in the least by what was to come when they were freed. Had they no sense of self preservation?

"Ratchet, I know you're in love with us, but we've tried to tell you, we're not interested," Sideswipe said in all sincerity.

Ratchet's low growl turned into a roar as he punched in a code on Sideswipe's cell. The bars disappeared and Ratchet stormed in. Starscream stared, transfixed as the medic, the one who swore to protect and preserve all life literally throttled the red menace. His first strike was well aimed, sending the frontliner into a dizzying scramble that left him vulnerable. Sideswipe squawked with each strike and tried to defend himself, but Ratchet's knowledgeable hands struck in all the right places, rendering him helpless.

"Whack him a few times for me!" Sunstreaker called, not bothered in the least that his twin was being mech handled in the next cell.

After a minute of clangs, bangs, yelps, and a plethora of curses, Ratchet exited Sideswipe's cell. He pawed the control box on the way, causing the electric bars to spring to life. Without another word he disappeared down the hall.

Starscream wondered if the red twin was still alive, considering his unmoving frame and his quiet demeanor. When Sideswipe showed no signs of life, he called, "Are you dead?"

Sideswipe remained motionless. Sunstreaker gave the seeker half a glance before answering, "He's not dead. Just offline. He'll wake up aching but laughing. He always does."

"Insane," Starscream muttered just loud enough for Sunstreaker to hear.

"Yes, he is," Sunstreaker agreed, then amended, "And an idiot."

Just then the lights flickered. The only illumination was coming from the recessed lights out in the hall and the blue and red optics of the captives. Starscream let out an involuntary hiss, expecting the worst.

"Relax," Sunstreaker called. "It's just lights out. One of the punishments is an _early bedtime_." A gruff snort graced the cell before he added, "The other thing Prowl insists on torturing us with is early morning television."

"What?" Starscream sputtered in the dark.

"Usually something associated with sparkling education," Sunstreaker offered, not realizing this had been the most he'd spoken to anyone outside of his brother in over a week. "Prowl thinks it will work on us, but it hasn't so far. Doesn't stop him from trying, though. Poor mech. Just doesn't seem to understand what he's up against."

Starscream watched in fascination as Sunstreaker completely powered down in his cell, his optics shuttering and systems cycling into a low hum. Sideswipe was currently residing on the floor, one leg propped up on the berth. Several white scratched adorned his paint.

Starscream downed the second cube and placed it back in the receptacle before returning to his own berth. It took some time, but he was able to get comfortable. The warm energon coursing through his systems made sure he shut down in record time.

The cell blocks were roused out of their collective recharge when the lights flared into existence and small screens appeared along the wall in every cell.

"Slag," Sunstreaker muttered, throwing his arm over his optics.

Sideswipe let out a high pitched keen as he moved from his makeshift bed. When he onlined his optics, he started to giggle, rubbing his helm and wincing at a particularly nasty dent.

"Slagging psycho," he muttered.

Starscream's optics fluttered open and upon seeing the unfamiliar orange ceiling, bolted upright, scraping a wing along the wall. He winced, distancing himself from the wall and turned to glare at the screen. Images of fleshlings and puppets filled the screen, along with the most annoying song Starscream could ever recall hearing. It only stopped when the humans started talking in small words, obviously centering their attention on immature humans who would be watching their broadcast. Starscream found it insulting.

Sideswipe actually sang along to the theme and perked up, watching with drowsy optics as the screen displayed the childish program. Sunstreaker resigned himself to listening to the broadcast, knowing Prowl would give them a pop quiz when they got out. If all questions weren't answered correctly, then it was back to the cell and back to the programming. It was a dirty, sneaky, disgusting trick, and the twins secretly admired the tactician for coming up with such a diabolical form of punishment.

The day progressed slowly for the incarcerated. Starscream received cubes every four hours, which he hungrily devoured, and stowed a little in subspace for his trinemates, if he ever got out of this hellish Pit.

Afternoon came and went and still the incessant drone of children's programming filled the cells. The twins seemed to be quite entertained, even singing along to the theme songs and making rude comments to perfectly innocent looking puppets and their respective puppeteers. It was quite funny, though Starscream would never admit anything out loud.

By midday, the flyer was ready to commit suicide.

"When will it end?" He howled after the fifth hour.

"Should have been over by now, but knowing Prowl, he's just sadistic enough to play the entire season," Sideswipe answered, then made a loud, gaseous noise at the screen.

Several more hours passed by.

As Ratchet placed two low grade cubes in the twin's cells, and turned to place Starscream's in the drawer, the seeker grasped the energy bars and snarled, "Get Prime!"

"Problem?" Ratchet asked in mild concern. He noticed the seeker's hands starting to burn with the energy of the bars. "Remove your hands and I'll get him."

Starscream released the bars, growling more in anger and frustration than pain. The energy burns on his hands were nothing compared to what he'd received from Megatron on a regular basis. Physical pain he could handle. Emotional pain he could handle. Psychological torture he could handle, but not coupled with incessant singing and errant stupidity. It was too much!

"I want to speak to Prime, now!" Starscream fumed. In his barely contained fury, his voice became rough and deep, something the Autobots noticed with a start.

He was **really **pissed.

A moment later Prime came into the brig, looking curiously to Ratchet, who had taken a moment to scan Starscream through the energy bars. He was quite pleased with the progress the seeker was making in his rehabilitation.

"You wished to speak to me?" Prime asked when he gained Starscream's cell.

"You win," Starscream spat, optics glaring a red so intense; it looked like they were going to melt his face. "Release me!"

Prime canted his head slightly, unsure of the seeker and his intentions. He was notorious for being manipulative and cunning. He wouldn't put it past the tri-colored jet to use a bit of subterfuge to escape his prison cell.

"I'm afraid that's impossible," Prime said.

Starscream opened his mouth to argue, when the screens showed the ending credits of a mild mannered elderly human, who wished everyone a load of 'weak, emotional', slag before signing off. Then the screen erupted with a large purple dinosaur and both twins erupted in a high spirited version of the theme song, complete with sound effects provided by Sideswipe.

Starscream growled so hard his frame vibrated. He stared at the Autobot leader with all the malice and disgust he could muster and ground out through gritted denta, **"I quit! The war! The Decepticons! I quit it all! Just get me the frag out of here!"**

"Beg pardon?" Ratchet asked, taken aback.

"I quit! Do you hear me?" Starscream ranted, grasping the energy bars again and earning a bark of reprimand from the medic. "I never want to slagging **see** any of you again. I'm going back to Nemesis, collecting my trinemates and we're going somewhere quiet and safe from Autobot insanity!"

Prime stood agape. Though he expected Starscream to lie and manipulate to get out of the Autobot brig, there was something in his optics that said he was telling the truth.

"You … _quit_?" Prime asked.

"Yes!" Starscream hissed. "I didn't sign up for this insanity! If Megatron wants to stop me, he'll just have to terminate me! I'm not doing this anymore! I **quit**!"

To reiterate his point, the jet roughly scratched the Decepticon sigil off his wings, growling oaths and using words the collected mechs had never heard. Sideswipe filed them away for later use. When there wasn't a hint of purple anywhere on the flyer's frame, he spun on the Prime, optics blazing.

"Release me. Now." He growled.

Unsure what motivated him, Prime hit the release button. The bars disappeared and Starscream stepped out into the hall, glaring daggers. And to the bafflement of all, turned on his thrustered heel and stalked toward the exit. Ratchet and Prime followed along, Prime sending out a comm. to alert everyone of the Decepticon's release. Many stared opened mouthed as Starscream stalked past them. No words, no dirty looks, or threatening behavior was displayed in any way. He simply walked by his most hated enemies without a glance. When he reached the entrance to the Ark, he ignited his thrusters, the damaged thruster sputtering for a moment before catching, and disappeared on the horizon.

Down in the brig, the twins were staring open mouthed at the now empty cell across from theirs.

"…..What?" Sunstreaker was able to formulate after a moment.

Sideswipe offered a partial shrug, returning his attention to the screen. "Maybe he didn't want to be our neighbor?"

**0000-iiiii-000000-ooooooo-000000-ooooooo-0000000-iiiiiiiiiii-00000-ooooooooo**

**Yeah, I know. Prowl's evil. **

**NO one should have to watch Sesame Street, Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, and Barney, especially not all freaking day! **

**No wonder the twins are so damaged.**

**Reviews would be loved… theme songs will be sent to Jazz for his irritation. **


	46. Not A Streak of Vanity To Be Found

**Not A Streak of Vanity To Be Found**

As per usual, here's an update at the first of the month! HAPPY OCTOBER!

THANK YOU TO: **Starfire201, Kimmie98, KayleeChiara, Lambor Terror Lep, Guest #1, Lovely Rain Dancer, Tiamat1972, Blitz-Krazi-1, Wanderling, Prowls-little-angel, Elita-2, Szahara again (NUMBER 500!), VaRa129, Aura Black Chan, Guest #2, Bluebird Soaring, Guest #3, StarLitDawn, Guest #4, and Annea101**

**Notes have been left in your inboxes for those who have the feature available. ****GUESTS**, please don't feel left out. I always send my thanks to all reviewers but if I don't know your ID then I cant send out the message. Though some don't log in, PLEASE know that I appreciate all that is written and I sincerely hope that ya'll stick with me and I hope you enjoy my insanity.

Sorry if this is sketchy! It was quick but I wanted to make sure ya'll got an update. Show the love and leave a review! And there's now over 500! I"m just... *thud*

**00-III-OOOOO-I-O-O-O-OOIIIOO—O—O-O-O—O-O**

"I think the twins are up to something," Jazz said, watching the two move through the rec room with a grace even the saboteur couldn't accomplish.

"They're always up to something," Prowl said, sipping his energon cube and reading a holonovel.

"Something more than usual," Jazz said, watching how the two pushed each other back and forth before disappearing through the door. A few seconds later, there was a heavy** bang** in the hall punctuated by Sunstreaker's murderous voice calling for his twins tailpipes. The noise level grew with the heated words.

"I think you should keep an optic on them." Jazz winced at some of the promised threats now filtering through his highly attuned audios.

"I always do," Prowl said, still engrossed in his holonovel.

"I have an itching in my circuits," Jazz said, his special ops skills served him well. He knew the twins were up to something. He just didn't know what.

"You should go to Ratchet," Prowl said, taking another sip of his warmed energon. "You may have caught something. You could have a rash."

"Haven't had one of those since before the war," Jazz said in all honesty, causing Prowl to nearly do a spit take.

Prowl lowered his cube and turned in slow motion to his counterpart, his optics imploring. "What?"

"Yeah, went off world to some place," Jazz offered a shrug, his vents hitching in a laugh as he recalled his adventure. "Met up with some natives, who were rather _interested_ in our anatomy, and to be honest, theirs were rather nice as well."

Prowl sat with a stunned expression, not sure he was hearing correctly.

"As the humans say, we fooled around," Jazz offered another shrug, telling the tale as if it wasn't something to be ashamed or concerned about. "Came back to Cybertron, and the next day, I had itchy plating. Didn't think anything of it. Then the itch got worse and worse and by the time the medic treated me, I had a rust rash that required isolation due to the complexity of the strain."

"Where did you get it?" Prowl asked, still wondering if he was going to crash or not with the information. His optics roved the upper body of his black and white counterpart.

"Where do you think?" Jazz waggled his brow plates suggestively then snickered at Prowl's scandalous look. He laughed, extending his leg and allowing his pede to peek over the side of the table. "My pedes. Had the rust rash on my pedes. Their reproductive organs were on their feet. So, when we played… _footsie_…."

Prowl let out a strange noise that caused Jazz to give him a concerned look.

"No, this itch is more along my sensors that alert me to danger," Jazz said his optics going back to where the twins had disappeared. His pede returned to the floor. He rubbed it back and forth out of nervous habit. "No chance of anything rusting off. At least I hope not."

Prowl opened his mouth to say something but Ironhide's voice came over the main comms.

'**Ironhide to Prowl.'**

'**Prowl here. Go ahead.'**

'**Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are beating the slag out of each other in hallway delta.'** Ironhide reported.

'**Is anyone else involved?'**

'**No.'**

'**Property damage?'**

'**No.'**

'**Personal?'**

'**No.'**

'**Damage to ship?'**

'**No.'**

'**Life threatening injuries?'**

'**No, at least, least, not yet.'**

'**Weapons out or discharged?'**

'**No.'**

'**Then leave them to it,**' Prowl said. He turned to Jazz and added, "And do not play _footsie _with the locals. There are regulations about such interactions."

"Almost lost a pede for that little experiment," Jazz said, giving Prowl a serious look that meant he wasn't considering any more _encounters_ with alien life. "Need pedes in my line of work. Can't sneak around with a gimpy pede that squeaks."

"It would have thrown off your dancing as well," Prowl offered a smirk before returning his attention back to the comms and Ironhide's sputtering.

Jazz's shocked expression stared at Prowl as Ironhide protested over comms.

'**Leave them?'** Ironhide asked, sounding surprised.

'**Leave them.'** Prowl reiterated. **'It's easier to let them fight it out than to break them up. If you break them up, they will just restart the fight somewhere else and next time innocent bystanders could be harmed.'**

'**Understood.'** Ironhide said, then groaned in sympathy. **'Uh, Prowl? There may be a problem.'**

'**What would that be?**' Prowl asked just waiting for the metaphorical shoe to drop.

'**Sideswipe just ripped off Sunstreaker's olfactory sensor.' **Ironhide's voice was thin, scared.

'**Oh slag.'** Jazz muttered, then opened an immediate comm. to Ratchet. **'Sideswipe tore off Sunstreaker's olfactory sensor. Be prepared for an eruption.'**

'**I can hear them fighting from here,'** Ratchet answered. His voice dropped to a low, predatory rumble. **'Leave them to me.'**

Jazz shivered.

'**Oh! Oh, Slag! Oh, man, that is NOT pretty!'** Ironhide said, keeping up a verbal commentary as the twins' ruckus could now be heard throughout the entire ship.

Using his overrides, Prowl thundered over the comms. **'Sideswipe! Sunstreaker! Desist this immediately or you will spend the next six months catering to the pre school children of Eden Elementary.'**

It was instantaneous. The noise stopped. Ironhide let out a pained hiss through the comm., obviously witnessing something epic.

'**Fine!'** Sideswipe shouted, surprising the Second and the Third with the malice in his voice. **'I'll let the Sunny **_**baby**_** get his way!'**

'**Now get to med bay and have Ratchet to check you over and if either of you so much as raise your voices, **_**both **_**of you will be spending time at Eden Elementary offering yourselves as playground equipment while the new gym is constructed,' **Prowl said with a cool tone that had an edge on it that could have sliced plating into shreds.

'**Fine!'** Sideswipe yelled over comms, though his voice carried to the rec room.

Prowl closed the line and sipped his energon once again, calm and serene. Jazz stared at him in awe.

Down in hallway Delta, Sunstreaker was poised over his brother, fist drawn back, murder gleaming in his optics, his olfactory sensor removed and leaving a sparking, gaping hole. Ironhide chose that moment to disappear, knowing that if **anyone **spotted Sunstreaker looking anything but perfect, he'd end them.

Sideswipe pushed himself from the bulkhead where he had fallen against during the struggle. But instead of showing his brother pure loathing, as Sunstreaker had been transmitting the entire fight, his face was split into a diabolical grin.

"Ready for phase two?" Sideswipe asked.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Sunstreaker sighed, his hand going to his face and checking out the damage. When he found the place where his olfactory sensor _used _to be, he glared at Sideswipe, his engine rumbling in true rage.

"All part of the plan," Sideswipe said in a placating tone, holding up his hands to calm his twin. He flooded their bond with positive emotion, earning himself another rumble of warning. "You wanted Ratchet to fix your nose last time but he wouldn't. Remember?"

Sunstreaker halted his advance, exhaling a hot gust in defeat. He had wanted Ratchet to fix his imperfect countenance after a Con had punched him in the face. But Ratchet, being the ever tack in the tire, refused to smooth out the bump in the bridge line along the elegantly proportioned nose. Now, having had said sense removed, rather brutally but his pain receptors had been turned off **before** the fight, Ratchet would have no choice but to use Sunstreaker's own artistically rendered blueprint to fix his ill-perceived imperfection.

"I can't stop now," Sunstreaker said in defeat, giving his twin a hard look that meant that if this didn't work, there would be a real fight later.

"That's the spirit!" Sideswipe said, clapping his brother on the back and turning him toward the doomed path that led to med bay. As Sideswipe stepped forward, a grinding, screeching noise erupted from his hip. His leg wobbled, his body threatening to bend at the waist. Sideswipe looked at his dysfunctional hip with a frown then turned to his twin.

"Do you mind removing your nose from my ass so I can walk?" Sideswipe deadpanned.

Sunstreaker huffed an angered noise but complied, removing the now useless sensor from between his brother's aft plates from where it was shoved during their fight.

Sideswipe extended his leg without the horrible noise and offered his brother a devilish look. "Now, let's go and get Ratchet to fix you up."

Sunstreaker nodded, hoping that he didn't meet anyone on the way to medbay. He had never looked so ugly in his life not counting having his nose askew at .004% microns and an indentation from a Con's knuckle that Ratchet refused to treat.

And if Sideswipe's plan didn't work, Sunstreaker's foot would soon replace where his nose had been jammed during the skirmish.

**00-III-OOOOO-I-O-O-O-OOIIIOO—O—O-O-O—O-O**

Reviews would be loved and DO help the muse.


	47. Mountainside, Pass

**Mountainside, Pass**

Request fic for **WANDERLING**. I hope it was what you had in mind. Course, with the way my muse likes to warp things, there was a chance that your request was thrown in a blender and used by Sunny to paint the walls. I hope it lives up to expectations.

THANK YOU TO ALL REVIEWERS! YOU ARE LOVED AND APPRECIATED!

Apparently the last chapter wasn't as good. Sorry about that folks. Cant win em all I guess. I hope this one is better!

**00000-OOOOO-IIIII-00000-OOOO-IIIII-00000-OOOOO-IIIII**

"I hate you," Sunstreaker said in the darkness.

"You're mouth says hate but your optics say love," Sideswipe answered in that annoying tone that drove Sunstreaker to violence.

"Shut up," Sunstreaker snapped, feeling that insane giddiness bleed through the bond. Sideswipe was trying to boost the mood, despite the current situation.

A silence lapsed, a couple pebbles falling from their anchors and tumbling down over Sideswipe's body to land on Sunstreaker who growled at the slight against his vanity.

"Love me?" Sideswipe asked, and instead of being his playful self, he sounded childish, and almost…. _scared?_ of the answer.

"No, you're ugly," Sunstreaker answered, feeling a gust of air that signaled Sideswipe's relief. The sensation was short lived however. Rock groaned from over head, dust falling on the two soldiers.

"We're twins." Sideswipe said, and there was no mistaking the dramatic optic roll in the dark.

"Yeah, but I got the looks," Sunstreaker answered.

Silence fell again. The ground rumbled with thunder, the weight of the heavens bearing down. Sideswipe asked again, though his voice sounded unsure, unsteady. His body was shaking with exertion.

"Still love me?"

If this was their end, then he wanted to make sure he terminated with the knowledge that he was loved by someone, even if it was just his twin. There was something sad about terminating without knowing you were ever loved.

"Against my better judgment." Sunstreaker answered, not liking the pang of desperation and fear Sideswipe was trying hard to quell deep in his spark.

Sideswipe winced, a loud grinding issuing from his shoulders as the joints started to buckle. His vents were coming in short, broken rasps, his suffering starting to bleed through to Sunstreaker, who recoiled. Hoping to take Sideswipe's processor off the situation, Sunstreaker spoke up.

"Did you see what happened to my leg?" Sunstreaker asked, the pain receptors turned off due to trauma. He couldn't feel anything from the waist down. Thank Primus.

"It was… by the door," Sideswipe answered, his voice straining.

"I bet the cave in smashed it," Sunstreaker sighed. "Ratchet's going to blow a gasket when he has rebuild my leg again."

"Same one?" Sideswipe asked, his words costing a great effort. He was under terrible strain, but Sunstreaker's conversation was helping.

"Yeah," Sunstreaker said, trying to shift, but finding his body pinned into place by his brother. He sighed, cursing his luck. "He should have several on hand due to the frequency he has to replace it."

The twins were doing basic repair duty along the ARK when the volcano decided to hiccup, thanks to Wheeljack's knocking along its magma chamber, and the roof had literally fell on top of the two. The initial rubble had landed on Sunstreaker, who hissed more from the scratches than from actual pain of having his leg pinned beneath a stray boulder. Sideswipe was tugging on his brother in an effort to free him, when the ceiling started to lower. The boulder shifted, ripping off Sunstreaker's left leg just above the knee. The floor gave way, taking the twins down another level, leaving Sunstreaker's trapped leg beneath the weight of the boulder on the floor above.

Only by Sideswipe's quick thinking where the twins spared a crushing death. Sideswipe had enough time to turn their bodies, landing on top of Sunstreaker and engaging his pile drivers. Now, Sunstreaker lay flat on his face, Sideswipe poised above him in a plank position, his pile drivers braced on either side of Sunstreaker's shoulders. The weight of the roof was straining Sideswipe's frame. He didn't have Brawn's strength. His pile drivers enabled him to have a stronger sub-frame, but the strain of holding up the mountain was disintegrating his joints. Sideswipe buckled, pained hisses coming from between his clenched lip components. Sunstreaker sent reassurance and strength through the bond, but it wasn't an emotional strength that Sideswipe needed, it was physical. His body wasn't built to hold up a mountain.

The mountain grumbled in protest again, sending a shower of small rocks and powdered earth falling on to the two pinned beneath its mass. Sideswipe grunted, hearing another pop in his joints as his systems gave one by one. A hydraulic gave out, hissing in the dark like an angry snake.

"Wish they would hurry up," Sideswipe growled, his frame shaking with effort.

"Your locator beacon on?" Sunstreaker asked, though he could feel the pulse of the frequency thrumming his own his body as well. Two signals calling for help, screaming for their friends to rescue them from the premature burial.

"What do you think?" Sideswipe snapped, his spinal strut feeling like it was about to snap. He lowered himself a little further, his arms trembling. The rock shifted, raining debris on its victims. The change in pressure caused Sideswipe to shift, the weight bearing down on him at a different angle. A groan of metal issued from his spinal strut as his body bowed in supplication. If his shoulders gave out before help could arrive, there was a good chance both would terminated from the weight of the rock. Sideswipe's tensile strength was the only thing keeping them from being buried under volcanic rock and twisted metal from the compromised ship.

"Hold on," Sunstreaker whispered in the dark, wishing he could lend physical strength to help his twin. It irritated him that he was helpless, powerless to assist Sideswipe when both their lives were in peril. "Hold on just a little longer."

"What do you think I'm trying to do!" Sideswipe shouted in his brothers audio. He didn't mean to be so waspish, but the strain was getting to him. Warning lights flooded his vision into red as bloody as his armor. Systems threatened to crash all together. Pressure was being lost through fissures sustained in the straining cables and tubes. His entire body was quaking in turbulence, and his strength was waning with each passing second.

"They better hurry," Sideswipe gasped, another pop issuing from his shoulder. The sound was accompanied by a significant portion of the rock shifting, crumbling away and encasing the two mechs.

There was a long, low groan of metal warping, followed by Sideswipe's fluent cursing. Sideswipe had to cycle air through his vents at a quickened pace, making the air hot and stifling in the confined space. It was taking twice the effort to cool his systems, and the atmosphere was becoming thick with rock dust, clogging the panting vents. Any complaint about being breathed on was quieted in Sunstreaker's vocalizer.

"Primus," Sideswipe muttered, feeling as if the mountain was trying to staple his arms into place. "This hurts."

"I think I hear voices," Sunstreaker said, his audio turned into the noise in case the volcano decided to get fussy again. If they had another trembler now, it could mean their termination.

Sideswipe snorted, the rock shifting again and forcing him to press his legs against his twins. "I always knew you were a few nuts loose of a tune up."

Sunstreaker ignored the jibe, hearing the strain in his brother's voice.

Sunstreaker hated this as much as his brother. It was one thing to fall in battle, preferably taking an enemy with you. But to be crushed by tons of rock, suffering a slow compression until the mountain gave one last sigh to represent your life and then…termination? That was too much.

"I hear something," Sunstreaker said, his audios a bit more attuned due to the ornamental augmentations. There was a moment of intense silence, then Sideswipe heard it. Voices. Their friends were coming! The question was, could they make it before Sideswipe's armor buckled and his frame snapped?

"On the count of three, start yelling,' Sunstreaker said. Hearing a warning hiss as Sideswipe now had his entire lower body pressing him into the rock floor. If this is what Sideswipe was feeling, Sunstreaker felt a wave of pity that was squashed with his determination that they survive this ordeal. "One. Two Three!"

In unison, the twins started shouting. 'We're here! Help! Hurry! We're right here!"

The voices shouted back, though the tons of rock muffled their words, but it was clear they had doubled their efforts to dig the twins out. Sunstreaker coughed through his vents, the condensation forming from his overheating twin making his own venting become harsh, the air unfit for circulation. It was a good thing the twins didn't require oxygen to survive. They would have already suffocated in the rocky tomb.

"Just a little longer," Sunstreaker said, wanting to give Sideswipe some hope. He could feel his brothers pain bleeding thought like a torrent. It was stealing his resolve, feeling his twin lose hope.

The rocks shifted, rumbling low in the bowels the earth. The sound reminded one of a giant slumbering beast, fearful when woken. Sideswipe gaped, a whine issuing from his vocalizer before he could stop himself. He fell forward, his upper body barely hovering over his brother's inert form below before dropping in agonizing protest. Sunstreaker could feel his brother's chest pressed against his back, and the tremors that coursed through his frame rattled Sunstreaker's plating.

A voice called, muffled though distinguishable. "Almost there! Just hold on guys!'

"What the slag?" Sunstreaker muttered hoping to boost his brothers spirits by making fun of the situation "I think that was Gears. Man, if it's Gears, just let go and drop the rock. I don't want to be rescued by that miniature aft."

Sideswipe snickered against his will. He was grateful for the distraction; though there was a good chance he wouldn't be able to withstand the pressure for much longer. His internal HUD was scrolling a long list of injuries, warning of emergency shut down procedures due to structural damage. He didn't have much time. And in essence, Sunstreaker didn't either.

Sideswipe didn't know if it was fatigue or his processor playing tricks, but he felt the mountain get lighter.

Rock crumbled all around, falling over the duo, coloring them in the shade of unkempt dishevelment. Sideswipe's shoulders gave one last whining grind of protest before the metal split, rendering his joints useless. He collapsed strutless on top of his twin, earning a painful grunt as Sunstreaker was compressed into the floor. Sideswipe was sandwiched between the volcanic rock against his back and his gasping twin below. Sunstreaker's words were muffled due to his face being smashed into the ground, but Sideswipe understood him nonetheless. The last chunk of debris was shifted, giving a welcomed respite to the two who thought their time was up.

"Primus, I'm tired," Sideswipe sighed, his lip components pressed against Sunstreaker's neck. It felt good to not have a mountain sitting on his back.

"Get off me," Sunstreaker muttered, half heartedly. His brother's sharp chin was cutting into the join of his neck. "I don't want anyone to see us like this."

"My body is broken and my systems paralyzed. Can't move, Bro," Sideswipe informed his twin, his shoulders popping and hissing as the pressure was finally released. The sound resembled pressure valves releasing steam when it had built up past the point of endurance.

"Aww.. how sweet,' Brawn chuckled, using his reinforced joints to their full advantage and removing the last of the boulders from the two Lamborghinis. "Did I interrupt a touching moment?"

"I can't move," Sideswipe called, feeling his brother's growl reverberate through his own chest. "Systems overheat and destabilized. My frame has snapped in several places. Structural compromise is at seventy-four percent. Emergency stasis lock in two minutes."

"Sunstreaker?" Brawn called, seeing the golden paint peek from beneath the red.

"Missing a leg and has busted joints," Sideswipe called, his voice able to carry better than Sunstreaker's muffled words. There was also a slim chance that Sunstreaker's jaw had been dislocated when Sideswipe's strength gave out and landed on top of him.

"Hold on, we'll get you," Brawn called, and started yelling over his shoulder for Ratchet to be prepared for a set of busted Lamborghinis.

"Oh man, saved by minibots?" Sideswipe said, giving a long suffering groan. They weren't going to live this down any time soon.

"And the dust, its clogging up my lines," Gears was complaining as he shifted the smaller rocks out of the way and wedged himself into the small opening they had made in the rockslide. Windcharger and Cliffjumper rolled their optics at Gears complaints. Both looked ready to commit the murder Sunstreaker was prepared for.

"I can stand being saved by the minibots," Sunstreaker muttered so only Sideswipe could hear. "As long as I'm allowed to put Gears in our grave."

**00000-OOOOO-IIIII-00000-OOOO-IIIII-00000-OOOOO-IIIII**

**Reviews would be loved!**


	48. A Glimmer of Sunlight

**A GLIMMER OF SUNLIGHT**

An: THANK YOU to: **BLITZ-KRAZI-1, WANDERLING, BLUEBIRD SOARING,****STARFIRE201, SEZWHO94, STARLITDAWN, KIMMIE98, PROWLS-LITTLE-ANGEL- LOVELY RAIN DANCER, ELITA-2, AURA BLACK CHAN, LADY-NEBKHAT, GUEST, AND LAMBOR TERROR LEP.**

Love to all!

**{{{000-IIIII-OOOOO}}} {{{000-IIIII-OOOOO}}}**

Wheeljack hummed to himself as he worked. It had been at least a month since he was able to get a project finished. The Cons had been abnormally active for the past few weeks, prompting the inventor to shunt his projects aside in favor in assisting Ratchet in the medical bay. Soft whistling drew his attention to the door, where a flash of red sauntered inside.

"Sideswipe," Wheeljack greeted, glancing up. His head fins flashed a bluish-green.

"I'm here for my sentence," Sideswipe informed the inventor, plopping his frame onto a stool next to the workbench.

"It's not a sentence," Wheeljack chided, a soldering iron casting his cheery visage in a soft ember. "It's either you serve your punishment detail with me, or with Ratchet, and I believe Ratchet is in a foul mood."

"Tell me about it," Sideswipe groused, grabbing a scrap piece of metal off the workbench and twiddling it between his fingers. "I swear, his EM field is so chaotic, it make Sunny's seem like a calm lake."

Wheeljack smirked at the comparative. Ratchet had been rather hostile as of late. Moreso than usual anyway. Wheeljack was debating on whether or not to bring it to the medic's attention. He decided to wait until he was repaired from whatever self inflicted explosive malady sent him to the medical ward next time. Ratchet was less abusive of him while he was recovering. When he was fully healed though, rehabilitation took a little longer due to Ratchet's temper.

"Don't touch that," Wheeljack called.

Sideswipe's servo returned to his body where it was trying to ascertain a cool looking device sitting on the back of the workbench.

"So, what do you want me to do?" Sideswipe asked, looking around the assorted junk.

"You can categorize parts according to the bins," Wheeljack said, nodding toward the assortment of multi-colored trays that graced the top of the work station. Each one was labeled with different parts and categorized by size.

"This junk?" Sideswipe said, motioning toward the piled tables. "I can't tell what to keep and what to toss!"

"All of it is be kept," Wheeljack said and sent the frontliner a databurst of his full assignment.

Sideswipe groaned, knowing it was going to take him hours to clear off at least one table of the clutter. And knowing Wheeljack, the table would be back to messy order tomorrow. Wheeljack couldn't keep any area clean for long. His own quarters was labeled a hazardous zone by Ratchet eons ago. No one dared to go near that section of ship except the medical officer, and that was only under direct armed guard.

"Fine," Sideswipe sighed, grabbing several bolts and finding their assigned bins labeled on the wall. He dropped them into the black box marked with the appropriate sizes and instead of hearing the metallic clink of metal striking, the plastic bin offered a dull thud. Sideswipe pulled the small plastic bins out and tipped them forward, searching for their labeled contents.

All were empty.

Figures.

Leave it to Wheeljack to make a mess and then request help in putting his work station back in order so he could mess it up again.

Three hours later and Sideswipe had made progress. Two of the bins for nuts and bolts had been filed to capacity and Sideswipe had to find an available container to put the spare, labeled with contents and size of course. He rolled his optics wondering how long Wheeljack could go adhering to his own labels before everything became a jumbled mess again. Probably not more than twenty-four hours.

Assorted screws were placed in orange bins. They were soon joined by burnt circuit boards in red, chips in green, small cylinder shaped things Sideswipe didn't know the function of in the white, and for some odd reason, two inch stripes of burnt copper wiring that went into blue. Why the inventor needed to keep burnt wires was a mystery. It was better not to dwell on such things. Sideswipe could crash his processor.

With the clearing of the assorted junk, Sideswipe could now see the object that had first gathered his interest so many hours before. It was squat, silver, with a lot of intriguing, must-be-pushed buttons. He looked at the device, which hummed softly in song, a little green light blinking every ninety seconds.

Sideswipe's helm cocked to the side, watching the light with childlike fascination. He reached for the appliance again before being halted by a watchful Wheeljack.

"Sideswipe. Don't touch," Wheeljack said, going to one of the newly assorted bins and dumping its contents onto the counter, picking out a handful of needed screws, then leaving the mess behind.

Sideswipe now knew how the place got so messy. Wheeljack was almost as bad as himself. Course, Sideswipe never blew himself up. Well, almost never.

"Work on the next table, please," Wheeljack called, bending to task of securing a piece of metal over the innards of what he was working on.

Sideswipe sighed and went back to work. Another hour passed, this time the ruby mech finding a mess that made his plating stand up on end. There were pieces of what looked like spark chambers and main processors. Those were parts that were normally reserved for medical staff, seeing how they had need for such items to save someone's life. To see such things in the inventors workshop was unnerving.

Such devices in the hands of a crazed, mechanical genius meant that bad things happened. Sideswipe would know. He and Sunstreaker had a nasty encounter with a mech who not only liked to experiment in fields that made the spark falter, but he was especially interested in the twins own unusual lives. The 'tests' the two endured still haunted charging hours, and the marks left by the mech had not only imprinted on their psyches but their frames as well. Sunstreaker had a particularly nasty mark on his body courtesy of the vile scientist. Its meaning so repugnant, Ratchet had purged his tank when he first discovered its existence.

Second workbench cleared and Sideswipe looked over to the first bench, noting that a third of its surface was covered in junk once again. Wheeljack needed a full service maid, not a front line warrior who picked up after him like a dotting creator. Sideswipe sighed and walked to where the inventor was bent over his latest project. His focus was intent upon a circuit board so small; Sideswipe had to use his focusing lenses to see it in detail.

Wheeljack remained ignorant to his presence. Sideswipe waited, tapping his pede in a soft rhythm. When Wheeljack made no motion to acknowledge him, Sideswipe went back to the first bench and began clearing its surface once again.

The little squat device blinked green, the color of 'GO' in Lamborghini language. Sideswipe couldn't help himself. He reached for the buttons, just to touch one. The red one looked promising and it matched his paint scheme. It wasn't a coincidence in his mind.

"Sideswipe, don't touch," Wheeljack said without looking up from his project. "It's not for you to play with."

"But it matches my paint," Sideswipe said, sounding so much like Sunstreaker it caused Wheeljack to pause. He looked up to see Sideswipe's outstretched digit nearing its target.

"Sideswipe! I'm warning you!" Wheeljack called.

"Yeah yeah, and we all know how well THAT works out," Sideswipe said, touching the little red button.

"Don't!" Wheeljack yelled, taking one step from his current project toward the red Lamborghini. He didn't make it in time.

**BOOM**

Sideswipe's world exploded into a super nova of color and thunder. He landed in a dazed heap against the work station that held Wheeljack's current project. The new device offered a little shake of its parts before falling silent. The contraption Sideswipe touched emitted a few feeble beeps before going dormant.

'**Wheeljack to Ratchet!'** the inventor called on his private link to the medic. **'Emergency in my lab. Sideswipe touched something he shouldn't and it just knocked him senseless.'**

'**He's already senseless,'** Ratchet retaliated, but headed toward his favorite destination. **'Maybe some sense got knocked **_**into**_** him for a change?'**

'**He's unresponsive,'** Wheeljack reported, his limited scanners employed, searching for damage. **'Spark pulse is erratic. His optics are half shuddered and unfocused. He isn't responding to his name.'**

Ratchet entered the lab at that moment and without word, knelt down in front of the ruby mech. He extended two hardline connections and brought up Sideswipe's internal displays, checking over his systems for damage. Most systems registered the normal parameters. A couple did not. The main system that was askew was Sideswipe's memory files. The second file was a redundant system used on a subconscious level. It was the part that rationalized life, existence, time of day/night, interpreted between past memories and present reality.

Sideswipe's helm lulled and Ratchet let out a growling oath that made Wheeljack rock back on his haunches. There was a sizable dent in Sideswipe's helm where he had impacted the leg of the table. Being anchored into place, the table acted like a stanchion, immediately halted the warrior's unexpected flight across the room.

A soft chirping noise escaped Sideswipe's vocalizer as he started to blink in slow motion. It took a few moments for his optics to regain their focus and when they did, they found a concerned Ratchet hovering over him.

"Ratchet?" Sideswipe asked, his voice coming out slurred and heavy.

"Yes, Sideswipe. How are you feeling?" Ratchet asked, his medical overrides already instating new parameters to assist Sideswipe's patch program in putting his processor back in order.

"Tired," Sideswipe said, exhaling a heavy exhaust. "I thought we'd never make it."

Ratchet and Wheeljack exchanged a look. Ratchet turned back to his patient and asked, "Sideswipe, do you know where you are?"

Sideswipe's head lulled to the side and with a tired whine to his hydraulics, he said, "Looks like the science lab in Iacon." He gave his helm a little shake, which only made his dizziness get worse. He groaned, doubling over and grasping his helm while he balanced his elbows on his knees. "Primus, what did I have to drink last night?"

"You touched something you shouldn't have and it exploded," Ratchet explained, before Wheeljack interrupted.

"Actually, it did what it was supposed to do," Wheeljack said, earning a hard, cold stare from Ratchet. He looked away in sheepishness, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sideswipe, we are on Earth. We crashed here four million years ago and was in stasis until the volcano erupted and reactivated our systems," Ratchet said, watching Sideswipe's face for signs of recognition.

"Oh…" Sideswipe frowned, his processor trying to decipher all the input. He let out a gust of air and added, "Oh yeah. Cons made us crash. They always make us crash. Last week, in Kaon, we had four transports to go down and…"

"Sideswipe!" Ratchet snapped, drawing the Lamborghini out of his dazed recollection. "Stop babbling. You sound like Bluestreak!"

"Who?" Sideswipe asked.

Ratchet sighed at Sideswipe's curious expression.

"Never mind. You're off active duty for awhile," Ratchet said, watching Sideswipe frown at the command. While Sideswipe tried to understand what his 'active duty' entailed, Ratchet opened a comm.. **'Ratchet to Prowl.'**

'**Prowl here, go ahead.'**

'**Sideswipe just knocked his screws loose in Wheeljack's lab,**' Ratchet said, watching as Sideswipe looked to Wheeljack and asked for his designation. **'I'm putting him on medical leave.'**

'**How long?'** Prowl asked, already formulating a change in schedules.

'**Three days to start,**' Ratchet said, sighing to himself. **'I'll reevaluate him then and we can go from there.'**

'**Understood. Sideswipe has been removed from the duty roster and is under medical supervision,'** Prowl said before cutting the connection.

"Let's get you to med bay," Ratchet said, helping Wheeljack pull Sideswipe to his pedes. The front liner swayed a little before following Ratchet out the door.

As Ratchet crossed the threshold he looked over his shoulder and added, "And you better have an explanation to that contraption that did this or so help me, I'll weld your trouble making aft to the laboratory door!"

Wheeljack gulped in fear and picked up the now dormant device. He followed Ratchet out, explaining the new device as just being a prototype for a new children's toy. Knowing that all beings, regardless of origin, were drawn to buttons, he had created a device that catered to such base-line programming. But there was a little glitch in the system.

Sideswipe sat through Ratchet's evaluation and extensive exam before being released. Ratchet gave the confused warrior a layout of the ARK and surrounding area, though Sideswipe was not allowed further than one hundred yards from the ARK. Not only was it for his safety, but for the other Autobots and humans as well. Sideswipe didn't know what a human was, and just as a precaution, he was given a datapacket by Ratchet with full, current explanations. Sideswipe took it all in stride, like always, but there were moments when he sat in confused silence, until passing the incident off as being a residual effect of his overcharge. He was dismissed from med bay with orders to return to his quarters and await his brother. Ratchet was hoping that Sunstreaker could help his brother remember what happened, but the golden mech was currently on a scouting mission with Bluestreak, and the duo weren't due back for another five hours.

An hour after Sideswipe was dismissed from medbay, Smokescreen was walking toward his quarters when he heard the noise. It sounded soft, feeble, and tore directly into the Praxian's spark. He zeroed in on the sound and grasped the handle to a little used supply closet. He opened the door and immediately felt his spark seize.

Sideswipe lay curled up into a small, whimpering ball. When the door opened he recoiled, trying to draw himself into a tighter ball, his body shaking with muffled sobs.

"Sideswipe?" Smokescreen said, stepping into the closet. Without thought he pulled the crying warrior against him and began to rock him as one would a distraught child.

Sideswipe clung to the warmth of the body holding him. His sobs increased, his trembling frame causing Smokescreen's to rattle.

"What's wrong?" Smokescreen asked, caressing the helm tucked against his neck with parental affection. "What happened?"

"It wasn't my fault," Sideswipe muttered between whimpers. "I didn't mean to."

"Do what?" Smokescreen asked, now rocking the mech cradled against him. Smokescreen felt his spark soar, feeling like a creator all over again. It had been a long time since he felt such strong emotional attachment.

"I deserve my punishment," Sideswipe said, his vocalizer buzzing with static as he tried to gather strength for whatever punishment that was to befall him. "I'm bad. I'm broken. I shouldn't be alive."

Smokescreen wanted to beat the slag out of whoever had told the Lamborghini such a thing. He was about to ask the bots designation, but Sideswipe's next words stole his inner strength.

"I deserve to be terminated. I'm just junk. Only good for spare parts and a good frag," Sideswipe sputtered. With trembling hands he stroked the chassis in front of him, his digits going southern toward the gray interface panel. "I'll hold still this time. You don't have to hurt me. I won't cry again."

Smokescreen captured the probing servo and clutched it in his own, drawing his near his spark. He tightened his hold on Sideswipe and muttered, "I won't let anyone hurt you. You're safe. I promise."

Soft snuffling noises came from Sideswipe's vocalizer as past pain and torment rose up like acid. Smokescreen held him close, muttering reassurance and promises.

'**Smokescreen to Prowl,'** the Diversion expert called.

'**Prowl here,'** was the immediate answer.

'**Sideswipe is in supply closet beta six, suffering from a repressed emotional trauma,'** Smokescreen said, not wanting to give away too much in case someone was listening in. Besides, he felt uncomfortable explaining a mech's private life with anyone else. Didn't seem ethical.

'**I will send Ratchet to your current location,'** Prowl said.

'**No!'** Smokescreen snapped. He calmed himself, shushing a whimpering Lamborghini in his arms before adding, **'Sideswipe's emotional state is compromised. Given previous experience in such matters, I can make the assumption that if other mechs are around him, it may cause further emotional strife. I suggest keeping everyone away from this area until his emotions have stabilized. And I think it wise to get Sunstreaker here as soon as possible.'**

'**I have already commed him. He will be back in half an hour.'** Prowl reported. **'Is Sideswipe a threat to himself or others?'**

'**No, but in his current state, he may perceive others to be a threat to him,'** Smokescreen answered, hoping Prowl didn't ask for elaboration. He was already uncomfortable with what he reported so far. **'Please ask Blaster to cover for me until I can ensure Sideswipe's mental health and safety.'**

'**I have informed everyone to keep clear,'** Prowl said, adding yet another adjustment to the schedule. **'Blaster had agreed and Jazz has offered additional coverage if so needed.'**

'**Thank you,'** Smokescreen said, but the transmission was already cut.

Sunstreaker returned in a foul mood, which wasn't unusual. When Ratchet pinged for his location, the golden mech had refused to answer, having a feeling that the sputtering sensation filling the bond with his twin was cause for the medic's twisted panties. He met Ratchet's usual growled greeting and like two posturing tomcats the two headstrong mechs argued. Ratchet was vehement about Sunstreaker's apparent disregard for his twin and Sunstreaker believed Ratchet to be overreacting. It was only when Sunstreaker gasp and fell against the bulkhead that he realized the true depth of the situation. Using the desperate plea in his spark as a beacon, Sunstreaker raced through the halls and skidded to a halt in front of the closet. The door had been left partly open. Sunstreaker threw it wide and found his twin crying in the arms of Smokescreen.

When the door was flung open, Smokescreen prepared a verbal bashing that would have given Ratchet a run for his credits. But upon seeing Sunstreaker's livid expression, he turned to the mech in his arms and spoke.

"Sunstreaker is here," Smokescreen said, halting his soothing ministrations.

Sideswipe opened bleary optics to see his brother, standing like a golden god, framed in the doorway. He let out a sparkling like chirp before pulling free of his pseudo-creator and reaching for his twin.

"Sunny," Sideswipe muttered, burying his face against his brother's neck as Sunstreaker knelt in the doorway. "I hurt. Make it stop."

"I will,' Sunstreaker said, pulling Sideswipe into a hug and filling their bond with all the love and possessiveness he could muster. It had the desired effect. Sideswipe calmed, his whimpers falling away into hushed sounds, his frame slowing its tremors.

Smokescreen rose to his pedes, his doorwings extending in agitation over the situation and to relieve the kinks that had formed from being crammed into a closet for nearly an hour.

"Explain, please, why Sideswipe believes that everyone is going to hurt him,' Smokescreen said, towering above the twins.

Ratchet stood behind Sunstreaker, blocking any possible retreat if the golden mech decided to rise and make a run for it. But with Sideswipe clutched so vehemently against his chest, his fear slow to subside, Sunstreaker wasn't going anywhere.

"And don't you dare say its none of our business,' Ratchet added, putting his hands on his hips and giving Sunstreaker the look that meant explanations better be forthcoming or there were scratches in his near future.

Knowing he was boxed in, and with Sideswipe clinging to his frame, preventing escape, Sunstreaker sighed and started to explain. He didn't want to get into details, not with Sideswipe still so entrenched in the past. Not to mention it was part of a painful time in the twins past and neither felt comfortable in giving the details of their youth.

"We were sold to a pleasure house when we were young," Sunstreaker said, tightening his grip on his brother. The tremors were subsiding but the ruby mech was still flooding the bond with apprehension and loneliness. "When we refused to cater to such, indulgences, we were punished."

Sideswipe let out a whine, snuggling closer to his twin.

Sunstreaker soothed his brother and sent him a strong protective pulse, letting him know he wasn't alone. He gazed up into Smokescreen's stern face and added, "We were sent to opposite sides of the compound, where we were _educated_ on our function by numerous high paying clientele."

Smokescreen felt like he wanted to purge. Ratchet was fairing no better.

"We had no choice, no control, and was taken by many until we slipped into stasis from lack of energy," Sunstreaker said, feeling his brother's gentle brush against his mind. He was depleted, both physically and emotionally and he needed assurance his twin was nearby. He needed to feel protected.

"It hurts so bad," Sideswipe muttered so softly it was difficult to hear. He pulled his brother against him, trying to meld their frames into one before he added, "It hurts. Please, don't let them do that to me again. I don't want to do that anymore. Make them stop."

"I made them stop," Sunstreaker said, turning his attention to his brother. "It's all over. They won't hurt us again."

"Promise?" Sideswipe's voice was soft, meek, and wrenched the spark out of the two mechs witnessing such travesty.

"I promise," Sunstreaker said, his gentle gaze leaving his twin to stare with cruel bite into Smokescreen's own optics. "NO one will hurt or use us again."

Those words were the affirmation Sideswipe was looking for. He sagged against his brother, all tenseness and suffering gone. It was replaced with weariness and relief.

"Would you like me to give him a sedative to help him relax and maybe charge?" Ratchet asked, placing his hand on Sunstreaker's shoulder.

Sunstreaker tensed but shook his head. "I can get him to charge."

"Ratchet?" Sideswipe asked, raising his head to stare in confusion as he took in the tight confines of the supply closet. "Is that Ratchet?"

"Yes, Sideswipe, it's me," Ratchet said, kneeling down behind Sunstreaker. He kept a suitable distance in case his proximity would cause Sideswipe to regress back into his previous state.

"Hi, Ratchet," Sideswipe said, his grin looking lopsided in his fatigue. "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you and came to check on you," Ratchet admitted.

"That sounds like you," Sideswipe said with a half hearted laugh. His optics went unfocused, his helm swaying a little. Sunstreaker's grip tightened on his brother. "Ratchet can help, Sunny. Ratchet is strong. He can protect us."

"Yes, I can," Ratchet said, wanting so desperately to find the mech responsible for this tragedy and rip his spark from his chamber. Medical codes be slagged to the Pit. Ratchet wanted retribution and would have no problem in exacting proper punishment to the one who caused the twins such harm.

Sideswipe sighed and nuzzled his brother. Ratchet put his hands on Sunstreaker's back.

"Let's get you two to your quarters," Ratchet said, slipping his hands under Sunstreaker's arms and helping him to hoist Sideswipe into a standing position. Sunstreaker offered a noise of affirmation before leading his brother toward their quarters, Ratchet a few paces behind.

When the twins were several paces ahead, Ratchet turned to Smokescreen. "If I ever find the mech who did that to them…."

"You'd have to get in line," the Praxian said, exiting the closet and stretching his door wings.

The twins made it to their quarters without encountering any other ARK members, a fact that Sunstreaker was glad. Ratchet waited until both were inside before shutting the door and giving the two privacy and peace. Sunstreaker helped his twin into their quarters and just like old times, directed Sideswipe to his berth, where he pressed himself against the wall, facing outward, his hand extended to Sunstreaker in invitation.

Sunstreaker couldn't say no. He crawled in with his twin, his processor flashing back to their youth when one had been brutalized by the clients at the pleasure house and needed physical comfort to get through the pain and torment. Sideswipe latched onto him like a terrified sparkling, the shaking starting all over again. He muffled a supplicating cry against his brother as he clutched at the golden frame. Not having the constitution to endure such emotional bleeding, Sunstreaker snuggled closer. And though it had been ages since such a thing was needed, he sent the command to open his chest plates. As the golden plates rearranged themselves and his spark chamber split, Sideswipe's own half spark answered the unspoken summons. As soon as both sparks were exposed they reached for each other, pulling together to become one and whole. Sideswipe instantly slumped in submission, feeling his brother's protectiveness and love flowing unchecked through their combined sparks. Sunstreaker felt his brother's pain and turmoil, and like so many times before, he drew his twin in, taking the pain and sending it to somewhere dark where it couldn't hurt them again.

When Sunstreaker woke up, his tank gave a rumble in disagreement. He checked his chronometer and found that twelve hours had past. It was now just after two in the morning. He looked to his brother and found him sleeping blissfully unaware. Knowing that Sideswipe would need fuel as well, the golden mech slipped from his brother's grip and headed out the door. With a fast step he went to the rec room, filled two cubes and made his way back toward his quarters. When he opened the door it was to find an empty room. He sighed, placing the two cubes on a nearby table. He turned to go on the mech-hunt for his brother when he received a startling summons.

'**Sunstreaker, could you come to my quarters please?'** Prime's voice came over comms, along with an echoing ping that was meant to awaken the warrior if he was in deep charge.

'**I'm busy,'** Sunstreaker said, stepping out in the hall and looking up and down for signs of his brother.

'**If you are looking for your brother, he is currently curled up beside of me,'** Prime said with just a touch of humor. '**I would appreciate it if you could come and collect him.'**

'**On my way,'** Sunstreaker said, heading down the left side corridor and taking another left to Prime's personal quarters.

Sunstreaker punched in his access code and with a beep, the door opened. Though Sunstreaker had a strong constitution and could hold back his mirth in the funniest of situations, he couldn't stop the choked laugh that had escaped.

Prime lay on his berth, Sideswipe tucked against his side like a sparkling. Prime's arm was around the ruby mech's shoulders as Sideswipe babbled about what sounded like a bad horror movie.

"And then, there was this guy," Sideswipe said, talking to Prime as if he was explaining something to his long lost creator. "And he went into the basement and didn't come back. Do you know why?" Sideswipe asked, then when Prime made no answer, Sideswipe continued, "There were werewolves in the basement playing poker, and when the guy saw them, he screamed, they ate him, and went back to playing poker."

"Really?" Prime asked, sounding enthralled by the account.

"Do you think that will help your investigation?" Sideswipe asked, sounding skeptical, yet hopeful.

Sunstreaker just stared. He knew he was grinning in a maniacal way, but there was just something funny about Sideswipe curled up against Prime and giving an incoherent testimony. Sunstreaker figured he was just tired and that this scene brought up concerns about Sideswipe's mental stability, but Sunstreaker couldn't bring himself to speak.

"I believe your brother is here," Prime said, hoping to get Sideswipe to focus.

Sideswipe frowned and looked toward the door. He smiled, giving Prime's torso an affectionate pat and a muttered, "Good Kitty," before getting up and smiling at his twin.

"Sunstreaker? What are you doing here?" Sideswipe asked, looking happily surprised.

"Come to get you," Sunstreaker said, holding out his hand for his brother to take. Sideswipe took the offered hand, giving a happy chirp as Sunstreaker turned to leave.

Sideswipe dug in his pedes and whined, "But what about the investigation?"

"What investigation?" Sunstreaker asked, turning to his brother.

Sideswipe looked confused for a moment and didn't answer.

"Come on," Sunstreaker said, tugging his twin toward the door. "It's late and I'm exhausted."

Sideswipe nodded and followed his brother. When he was standing at Prime's door he looked back and added, "I hope I could help you. Let me know if you catch the guy."

"Will do," Prime called before the door slid shut.

Sunstreaker lead his brother back to their quarters, made him drink the cube and then tucked him in, where Sideswipe refused to charge until Sunstreaker sang a lullaby. Not sure what to sing, Sunstreaker remembered an old ballad from Cybertron and sang it until his twin was asleep. Sighing in exhaustion, Sunstreaker lay down his head and fell into a deep charge.

The next morning, Sunstreaker was pulled out of slumber by Prowl's annoying voice.

'**Prowl to Sunstreaker. Respond.'**

'**Sunstreaker here. What do you want?'**

'**Your brother was found in the brig, where he said he was serving his sentence. I thought you were watching him.'**

'**I am, but I need charge, slag it!'** Sunstreaker snapped, looking to the empty berth. **'He must have awakened early.'**

'**Please hurry. Red Alert informed me that Sideswipe is on his way to the Command Center.'** Prowl said, and there was real irritation in his voice. **'And I do not believe he is stable enough to return to duty.'**

'**What was your first clue?'** Sunstreaker snapped, stumbling from the berth and out the door.

Sideswipe strode into the Command Center with the air of a superior mech in every way. His paint was rather shiny, the edges to his frame crisp and neat. His back strut was as rigid as Prowl's own. His shoulders were squared, his steps light, but purposeful. He nodded to Jazz in a stiff, formal way, before going to the main terminal and punching in random numbers.

"Sideswipe, what are you doing?" Prowl asked, hoping the mech didn't crash Tele-Tran.

"I am updating the system and checking Tele-Tran's parameters," Sideswipe answered in a steely, hard voice. It sounded odd coming from the normally laughing and cheeky mech.

"Tele-Tran has already been analyzed this month," Prowl reported, watching as numbers flickered across the main screen. "I must ask you to cease your actions."

Without turning around, Sideswipe called, "It's my job to ensure the safety of this crew and I will not allow you to hinder my job." He turned his steely gaze over his shoulder and glared at Prowl with a look that made the Praxian shiver despite himself. "And I will not tolerate insubordination."

Sideswipe turned back to the screen, his attention split between checking Tele-Tran for possible defection and writing out two adjacent programs. Sunstreaker entered the room and headed straight for his brother.

"Come on, Sides, let's go get some breakfast," Sunstreaker said, hoping to get his brother's attention drawn toward refueling. Sideswipe was usually distracted by the prospect of food. But not this time. He jerked his arm out of his brother's grip.

"Do not touch me!" Sideswipe snarled, giving his brother a death glare before returning his attention back to the console.

Sunstreaker stood agape, staring at his twin. The rage and insolence flooding the bond shocked and unnerved him. Sideswipe usually filled the bond with love and adoration, using the sentiments to torture Sunstreaker with all the 'happy' feelings that made him uncomfortable.

"I have work to do, Sunstreaker. I suggest you find something to occupy your processor," Sideswipe said in dismissal, going back to his multiple tasks without blinking an optic.

'**Perceptor and Wheeljack to the Command Center,'** Prowl called. **'Sideswipe is doing something to Tele-Tran and to be safe, I would appreciate a thorough analysis.'**

'**On our way,'** came the two answers almost in unison.

When the two bots came into the main control room, Sideswipe finished up with whatever he was trying to do. He looked over his shoulder, saw the two mechs, and nodded toward Tele-Tran.

"I have begun the program installation and I believe the two of you will be able to finish where I left off," Sideswipe said, stepping away from the console and going to the security monitor. He gave the screen a stern scrutinizing look before nodding in affirmation and turning to Prowl. "Everything seems to be in order. You have the bridge, Number One."

With a curt nod, Sideswipe left, Sunstreaker trailing behind.

"What was that all about?" Wheeljack asked Prowl, noting the tactician seemed stunned into inactivity.

Prowl pulled himself out of his stupor, and near shut down, to address the two mechs who just arrived. "Please make sure Sideswipe didn't corrupt and compromise Tele-Tran."

Perceptor went to the main terminal, pulling up the three programs that Sideswipe had been working on. It was a full minute later that he gave an excited beep that sounded like a sputtering truck.

"Primus!" the scientist gasped.

"Bad?" Wheeljack asked, leaning over from where he was examining the systems check that Sideswipe had instigated. It took the inventor a moment to read over the lines of code but his shock was easily painted on his face the more he read.

"What did he do?" Prowl asked, not liking the shocked Perceptor and stupefied Wheeljack looks he was watching.

"He wrote a program," Perceptor said, nodding to one of the small boxes on the screen. "It's incomplete but the magnifications of this is…. Its…."

"Genius," Wheeljack summed it up. "There's two, many three little additions to the end and Sideswipe is responsible for solving a problem we have barely scratched the surface of."

"Which is?" Prowl asked, finding it hard to believe that Sideswipe could be labeled a genius.

"Energy conversion for Cybertron," Perceptor added, entranced by the dancing figures on the screen. "He's come up with a universal adaptation that can make just about anything available able to be converted to raw materials that will allow latent energy to be released into kinetic, and even using the conversion method as a powering supply so once it gets started, it becomes a self contained environmental energy source."

"The analysis he was doing on Tele-Tran explains the second program he was writing," Wheeljack said, shrinking the energy formulation and bringing the second box into standard viewing size. "This is a program that will allow Tele-Tran to expand parameters without sacrificing space and the ability to run self checks and patches."

"Ingenious," Perceptor said, looking over the code with intent optics.

"Who's ingenious?" Ironhide asked, joining the group.

"Apparently Sideswipe," Prowl said, watching as the two science mechs started talking in techno-speech about the augmentations and the benefits that were to be gained.

"He's an idiot," Ironhide scoffed. "Just saw him singing in the hall."

"He always sings," Jazz said, with a huge grin on his face as he returned to the Command Center. He looked to Prowl's questioning stare and added, "His lyrics were colorful. Certainly not standard when the song was original produced."

"If a song talks about Megatron in black lace panties, then I believe I no longer wish to listen to public radio," Ironhide deadpanned.

"He just made a pass at Mirage," Jazz grinned, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the hall. "Thought Mirage was a femme and made a rather crude proposition."

"He's going to be insufferable," Prowl muttered, knowing the Tower mech didn't take too kindly to be thought of as feminine.

"He always is," Ironhide said, his grin matching Jazz's.

There was a loud shout, followed by a banging clang that meant someone just got knocked against a bulkhead. Sunstreaker's voice came over comms, asking Ratchet to attend Mirage as the mech was unconscious. Sunstreaker's voice was quickly followed by Red Alerts, informing the crew that Sideswipe just tried to molest the Tower brat before Mirage shoved his unwanted pursuer into the wall. Mirage was quickly knocked flat on his aft by an enraged Sunstreaker, who picked his confused brother up and was trying to escort him to their quarters but Sideswipe was arguing and trying to gain freedom.

Prowl's attention was called back to the scientists when Perceptor grabbed Wheeljack and had the inventor to scan over the other program that had been written in hasty symbols. Prowl sighed, wondering what Sideswipe had done when Wheeljack's overly bright optics turned to him with an announcement that made his fins flash like a disco.

"Sideswipe figured out how to double Tele-Tran's output," Wheeljack reported. "And create a firewall that's impossible to penetrate."

"I'm having difficulty in finding a flaw to the routine, but I do believe your assumption is correct," Perceptor added, scanning the codes to check the validity of the new program.

"I tell you, he's a genius," Wheeljack said with a smile.

"Your genius is currently throwing Bumblebee in the air," Prowl reported, having just got a full detailed summary from the minibot and other witnesses. "He believes Bumblebee is a new toy and is …_ playing_.. with him."

"All geniuses are a little bit crazy," Wheeljack said in self defense.

"Huffer is running his mouth," Jazz reported, hearing the comm. chatter from the mechs in the rec room. "There's a good chance there's going to be a fight in the rec room."

"Ironhide, Jazz, with me," Prowl ordered, opening a comm. to Ratchet and pinging the medic to the rec room.

As the three officers neared the rec room, there came a loud crashing sound, followed by a heavy thump and a clang of a body falling to the ground. The officers ran into the room to find several of the minibots standing around a dazed Bumblebee. Sideswipe was unconscious on the floor with Sunstreaker standing over him, hands on hips and the look of the pit maker about to unleash untold horrors.

"What is going on?" Prowl demanded, going to Sunstreaker to ensure he didn't attack anyone. The others could care for Bee. But with Sunstreaker's history, it was wise to find out what happened and deal with the consequences if and when he exploded.

"Sunstreaker was protecting me," Bumblebee said, his hand grasping his helm to steady his surroundings. "Sideswipe said he was going to go throw me in the smelter because that's where bad toys went and next thing I knew, Sunstreaker had decked him."

Sunstreaker looked to Prowl, his optics the icy hue of dismantlement.

"Is this true?" Prowl asked.

"He's not thinking right," Sunstreaker said, nodding to the heap that was his brother. "I was afraid he would be serious and terminate Bumblebee."

"What the slag happened?" Ratchet yelled, entering the room and immediately going to Sideswipe. He hooked into the frontliner's systems while casting a reproachful glare at Sunstreaker and Prowl. "Who did this?"

"I did," Sunstreaker said without remorse. "He was going to hurt Bumblebee."

"Thanks, Sunstreaker," Bee said, coming to stand next to the other yellow mech and giving him a grateful smile. "I don't mind playing along with being a toy but I don't think I want to pretend to be scrap metal."

"You're not scrap metal, Bee," Sideswipe said with a slur. Everyone looked to the downed bot as he shuttered his optics and pulled himself upright. He looked to Sunstreaker and snickered, "You look like a superhero, Bro."

"Sideswipe, do you know where you are?" Ratchet asked, his hardline connection giving him the data on Sideswipe's condition. It seemed the knock to the helm and the resulting fall, had knocked his cogs back into a regular alignment.

"Rec room," Sideswipe said, looking around, then nodded to everyone standing around him. "And Jazz, Prowler, Ironhide, you Ratchet, and my brother, the Hero."

"Slag," Sunstreaker muttered, clearly taking Sideswipe's definition to be another symptom.

"I mean, where we are. What is our current location?" Ratchet asked.

"Earth. Oregon. Mt. Hilary I believe the humans call it. In the rec room, with me laying on the floor and the five of you standing over me like pissed off guards." His expression turned wary. "Why are all of you standing guard over me? What happened?"

"Take him to med bay," Ratchet said to Sunstreaker, earning a disapproving look from Sunstreaker that was instantly dropped from Ratchet's return glare. "I'll run a few tests and if he's better, then I'll release him for duty in a few days."

"Better?" Sideswipe asked as Sunstreaker hoisted him to his pedes. "Better from what? What is going on guys?"

"I'll let you explain," Ratchet said to Sunstreaker as they duo passed.

"Thanks," Sunstreaker growled out, steering his brother toward med bay.

"Let me know when he is fit to duty," Prowl said as the three mechs started toward the door. "I wish Sideswipe to explain his calculations and possibly assist Wheeljack and Perceptor in the installation of his programs."

"What is he talking about?" Sideswipe asked his brother. "I don't know how to write programs."

"Long story," Sunstreaker said, linking arms with his brother and directing him toward the med bay and hopefully, an end to all the insanity.

**{{{000-IIIII-OOOOO}}} {{{000-IIIII-OOOOO}}}**

Sneak peek of another chapter to the one(s) who guess the reference**s**.

Any thoughts? Concrit? Fave Line? I'm holding off on requests at the moment because there are currently 9 sitting in a pile and I just don't have a fragging clue on what the muse wants to do with them. I'm hoping she comes up with something. I dont want to abandon this fic. Its just been SOOO much fun to write. Hopefully something will come to mind… Please, bear with me.


	49. Sideswiped

**Sideswiped**

AN: Got a lot of questions about the werewolves. Honestly folks, Sideswipe was blending reality and fiction. His circuits were scrambled so nothing was making any sense. He was thinking of movies as being real life and was enacting the 'horror/supernatural' aspect with the 'detective/cop' show. And remember, he didn't know who Bluestreak was at the beginning.

**0000-ooooo-IIIII-000000-OOOOO-IIIII-00000-OOOO-IIIIII-000000**

"Okay mechs, the game is Tell No Lies," Smokescreen said, setting up the shots of high grade. "Last one to remain conscious, and Tele-Tran is monitoring, is the winner. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Came the response from Jazz, Ironhide, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Tracks, and Mirage.

"Don't know why we're playing this again," Ironhide groused, staring at the cube as it was divided between the players. "We know whose going to win."

Mirage and Jazz shared a look, both having cultured tanks that allowed them to hold back more high grade than most. Their only true competition was Smokescreen, who seemed to have two hollow legs, a reserve tank, a fast analyzer and distribution processor. The mechs had learned of the drinking game last week, after hearing their new human allies speak of such games. Sparkplug recalled some vivid college years, Spike safely at school and not overhearing the sultry details of his father's earlier days. As soon as the college pranks and drinking games came up, all mechs on the ARK snapped to attention and absorbed the information.

Sideswipe just left the brig for the most recent 'college related' prank. It had worked beautifully, but had caught Prowl and Prime in the trap and earned the front liner a three day stint. He laughed the entire trip to the brig, sparkles falling from the senior officers in a parade like shower. Prime wiggling his aft to a gentle rain of sparkling glitter remained transfixed foremost in the frontliner's main memory banks.

"Just a note of caution," Ratchet called to the guilty mechs at the table. "The next drunken mech who makes a pass at me will find out how aggressive a medic can be when sufficiently aroused." Ratchet offered a lecherous grin before adding, "And I wont be a gentlemech about it."

With a cheeky look he exited the rec room, his circuits singing with the happiness that only comes from seeing a group of war torn veteran mechs visibly blanch at the prospect of what would be done to their fragile bodies while intoxicated.

"Well, that's as good as reason as any to join AA," Sideswipe said, giving the glowing shot of high grade a frightened look. It had taken the twins all week to brew this new batch, but now it wasnt so inviting.

"He couldn't handle our engines," Sunstreaker said, his dark manner causing the lighting overhead to dim. Ironhide leaned away from the golden warrior out of the instinct for self preservation.

"I don't ever want to test that theory," Sideswipe admitted, not bothering to hide a shiver.

"I'll give you good odds on interface related injuries,' Smokescreen taunted, trying and failing to ignore the irate glare thrown at him from Jazz and Ironhide. They both liked and respected the CMO. And they were downright terrified of him on any given situation.

"I'd rather keep my parts **on** me and not in a specimen jar," Sunstreaker added, recoiling a little at the thought of someone getting that close to him. Just the thought sent chills along his spinal strut.

Smokescreen grinned and started the game, declaring he had never started a 'barroom brawl'. The other mechs, minus Mirage all took a shot of high grade. It went down smooth, as always with the twins particular brew. Next it was Tracks, who declared he had never been so drunk he went home with a stranger.

He was the only one who didn't take a shot. He smiled, thinking he had the game in hand.

Every since Sparkplug recalled some of his college days to the mechs, they had been keen on practising the drinking games. Well, some bots were more keen than others, the terror twins at the top of the list. They wanted anything that would give them the advantage. So here they all sat, declaring secrets they normally wouldn't divulge, all in the name of gaining the upper hand to get the other players drunk before them.

Mirage indulged that he had never berthed anyone of low standing. That brought a round of confusion until he elaborated that he only indulged in pleasure with the high priced courtesans and other Tower brats such as himself. Sideswipe admitted to never berthing a courtesan and with a simpering look, Mirage took a shot. Sunstreaker was next, and couldn't help but admitting that he never drank from specially brewed high grade by the elite of Cybertron. Mirage took another drink, Jazz and Ironhide soon following.

The game went round and round, each level getting more and more intense, and outlandish with each ingested shot. Two hours later, it was Jazz, Smokescreen and the twins remaining. All four were intoxicated with the abundant charge from the high grade. Jazz was swaying, his vision focused on the shot glass that held the pretty swimming liquid he was drowning in.

"I've neffer faced a bonded," Jazz said.

The twins and Smokescreen took shots, their optics bleary and difficult to focus. Sideswipe hiccupped with an electronic noise before filling his emptied glass.

"I'ff neffer faced a Prax-shun," Sideswipe admitted, then added, "Shame too…. Preffy door w-lings."

Jazz and Smokescreen shook a shot. Jazz hiccupped and fell sideways in his seat, his systems so overcharged they buzzed in his frame like angry hornets.

That left Smokescreen and the twins. Three arch rivals that always tried to one up each other, the Praxian always ending up on the top of the dominance list. A fact which irked the twins and caused them no undue amount of stress and worry. They couldn't fathom how the sneaky Praxian was able to ingest so much high grade and still function. The twins had learned how to hold their high grade while fighting in Kaon. They were well versed in the art of intoxication, Sideswipe moreso than Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker turned blurry optics to his opponent and smiled, "I've neffer ash-ked about feelings."

Smokescreen smirked but took his shot. He licked his lips and said, "I'ff neffer had a twin."

Both Lamborghinis took their shots, their heads buzzing with the symphony of overcharge.

Sideswipe hiccupped and gave his most studious-while-drunk-stare and added, "I'ff neffer won against you wiff drinking hi-hic!-grade."

Smokescreen took a shot, his expression one of soured drunkenness.

"I'ff neffer won neffer," Sunstreaker added.

Smokescreen took another shot, his optics threatening to go blank from the overcharge.

"I'ff neffer lost to you," he said, trumping the twins at their own game.

"Cards," Sideswipe smiled, still not drunk enough to catch the loophole.

Smokescreen frowned, trying to remember the thread of conversation, when Sideswipe interrupted his garbled thoughts.

"I'ff neffer had doorz-w-lings," Sideswipe slurred.

Smokescreen growled low and took a shot. His door wings hitched high on his back, then sank to match his drunken stupor.

"I'ff neffer had d-loor wings," Sunstreaker added, causing Smokescreen to pout and take another shot.

"I'ff neffer not had door-slings," Smokescreen said, causing both twins to frown in confusion. He frowned too, trying to remember the conversation, and out of habit, all three grabbed their glasses and downed their shots.

With a high pitched squeal, Smokescreen keeled over, his systems firing off the excess charge in a fit of static.

"We'ff won," Sunstreaker said, elated that they had finally out drank the resident lush.

"Finnaly," Sideswipe muttered, moving to get up but the heavy weight in his pedes prevented movement.

With a groan he bent double, releasing the catch along his ankle. A thin tube was exposed. Sideswipe snapped the end off and allowed the backed up high grade to flow onto the floor. He turned to the other pede and repeated the process, emptying his newly installed reserve tanks of the purple charged fluid. The puddles looked exactly like a mech purging his tanks, so their clever deception was safe.

After a couple of minutes Sideswipe sat back and sighed in triumph. He noted Sunstreaker fumbling with his hidden release and with a clearer processor, he undone the catch that allowed his twin to expel the excess fluid.

"Smart idea," Sideswipe said when he noted Sunstreaker's optics return to their usual icy blue glaze.

"We can't beat him without some help," Sunstreaker said, stretching and feeling the lethargy of overcharge leave his system.

"I wonder how he does it?" Sideswipe said, getting to his pedes and traveling around the table to accost his opponent.

Smokescreen was draped across his chair, door wings drooping at odd angles. Sideswipe approached, the heady fumes of high grade wafting across his sensors so strong they gave him a processor ache.

"Primus, we drink a lot," Sunstreaker said, looking at the large puddle on the floor where the twins had emptied their hidden reserve tanks.

"All in the name of justice," Sideswipe said as he looked Smokescreen over. Sunstreaker's snort escaped his notice as he glanced along the Praxian's body. Wires, cables, plating, all seemed to be in order. Smokescreen's physique didn't differ from Prowl's or Bluestreak's, and the twins had enough close encounters to notice any oddities to a Praxian frame.

"Check his tank," Sunstreaker said, drawing up next to his twin and looking over the Praxian. He gave a shiver of disgust. The bulky frames weren't pleasing to the optics. At least not in Sunstreaker's opinion.

"I'm not sticking my hand anywhere inside his internals," Sideswipe said, pushing Smokescreen off his seat. He landed with a clanging thump onto the floor, where Sideswipe rolled him onto his back, mindful of the lax doorwings.

"Funny how a Praxian build is rather bulky and uninteresting when they are active," Sunstreaker said, his artistic optic catching the light and angles of the sleeping Praxian now sprawled in surrender on the floor. "But they change completely into something unique and attractive when unconscious and unsuspecting."

Sideswipe offered a low hum for an answer, his hands pressing along Smokescreen's body. After searching his torso, he opted to check the Praxian's pedes, thinking that he too had secret reserve tanks installed. But upon further examination, Sideswipe found the usual metal and glass that decorated the Praxian's pedes.

"I don't know where he puts it," Sideswipe admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in exasperation. His overcharge reared it's head, the residual charge lingering along his relays though his reserve tanks were empty. He collapsed beside of Smokescreen, his head buried along a shoulder and doorwing.

"Sideswipe, what are you doing?" Prowl asked.

Sunstreaker offered his customary sneer of contempt before giving a disgusted look to his twin.

Sideswipe rolled sideways, glancing at the SIC with one bleary optic before muttering, "What does it look like?"

"I suggest you take your liaison to another location," Prowl deadpanned, flicking a door wing in irritation.

Sideswipe nuzzled against Smokescreen's panels in an affectionate, suggestive way. Prowl wondered why his brethren wasn't responding to the stimuli. When Smokescreen's head lulled to the side, Prowl had his answer. He frowned, hands on hips, exasperation written all over his features.

"Sideswipe, Smokescreen is unconscious," Prowl informed the drunken warrior.

"I know," Sideswipe said, wrapping an arm around the Diversionary Experts waist, his fingers nimble along the seams. "I won the game."

"I see," Prowl said with a sigh. He was well aware of the contest between the two. The only thing he couldn't understand was why Sideswipe was showing such affection to a mech he considered his sworn enemy. "So why are you molesting him?"

Sunstreaker snorted. Sideswipe giggled, his fingers playing more animatedly across the unconscious mech's torso.

"Can't very well do it while he's awake!" Sideswipe answered with an electronic snort that died in his vocalizer as he frowned at the Praxian. His fingers brushed something strange along Smokescreen's left 'rib'. "What's this?"

Prowl looked to what had drawn the drunken frontliner's attention and gave a shrug. "That is where his secondary relay is located."

"Second?..." Sideswipe frowned, his fingers tracing the weld scar.

"Smokescreen was damaged at the beginning of the war," Prowl said, giving the frontliner a mixed look. "His main absorption array was damaged so Ratchet installed a secondary system. He is able to use his primary array to absorb fuel, or reroute his systems to the secondary redundant system, which utilizes at a slower absorption rate."

"What?" Sunstreaker asked, fanning his face to get the fumes of high grade away from him.

"Smokescreen can alternate between which absorption array is active and use the other as reserve," Prowl explained, not understanding why both twins were looking mutinous. "Due to such augmentations, he can remain active for twice the length of time before charging and refueling, which enables him to perform his job when on the front lines."

"Sure it does," Sunstreaker said, turning his murderous gaze to Smokescreen.

"I thought you knew this," Prowl said, looking from one twin to the other.

"No, we didn't," Sideswipe said, leering over the unconscious Praxian. "But rest assured, we will remember it and use it accordingly."

Prowl opened his mouth to argue, but then he recalled all the times that Smokescreen had lured the twins into a drinking contest. The abuse and blackmail the twins had to endure was enough to make anyone crazy with revenge. And as he gazed between the two of them, he saw Sideswipe's hand caress along a door wing. Something told him that retribution would be swift, though not lethal.

Which was odd, considering it was the twin terrors.

But Prowl had no reason to believe that Smokescreen would come to harm. The twins would enact their pranks, get their revenge and Smokescreen would learn his lesson. And he needed to learn it. Many a soldier had fallen victim to his ruse. It was time he got a dose of some good old fashioned comeuppance. Prowl offered a curt nod and took his leave.

If anyone could deal Smokescreen out a dose of medicine, it was the two bitterest pills in the Army.

And Prowl silently cheered them on.

**0000-ooooo-IIIII-000000-OOOOO-IIIII-00000-OOOO-IIIIII-000000**

**Reviews would be loved and boy do I need the positive energy right now!**

***hugs to all***


	50. The Sun In the Stream

**THE SUN IN THE STREAM**

A more cerebral look into the lives of our favorite Lamborghinis.

HAPPY 50 CHAPTERS! Gosh, I never thought it would go THIS far! I'm just in awe of the response and wonderful feedback that y'all have provided. And the awesome, prolific, and downright inspiring reviews and requests that just keep me going!

Here's hoping I can keep up! It would be spectacular if I could get to 100 chapters. I shall endeavor to continue as long as I get such wonderful feedback. *hint hint*

THANK Y'ALL SO MUCH!

**00-OOO-IIII-0-O-IO-0-00-OOOIII-OOOO-I—O-OOOOOOO**

Primus looked upon his children with a sad expression. Like all children they had to grow and learn, and though the journey may be difficult and fraught with peril, there was always the reward of peaceful slumber in eternity. Many had to be sparked, and though it pained the deity to think on it, many had to perish. There were lessons that his children needed to learn, and though he had gifted them with a spiritual knowledge of seeking his wisdom, very few exercised the gift. As fewer and fewer turned to their creator for strength and guidance, their ignorance caused them to stray from their chosen path. War ravaged their world, their people suffering at the hands of corrupt and insatiable. Wishing to give his children another chance, Primus took a piece of his own spark, willingly given from its powerful wielder, and encased in a holy relic that only the honorable would be allowed to successfully carry.

Many had tried to take the Matrix of leadership, either by force or misunderstanding, and as the ancient artifact passed from frame to frame, it sought the true essence of its wielder. If they were found unworthy, the Matrix would refuse to bestow its grace upon their frames. Most of the rejected would pass the Matrix to the next possible candidate, their own sparks heavy with the weight of guilt and selfish disgust. But there were the spare few who refused to accept the artifacts judgment upon their sparks and tried to carry its burden by the sheer voracity of their will.

Every one of them had met with a tormented and painful end.

The _Matrix_ chose its bearer. Those who were unworthy were not given a second consideration, and if they reared against the Will of Primus, they suffered his wrath accordingly.

Primus paused, watching the beings of his creation enjoy their lives. Their joy and adoration were contagious. The look upon their faces and the overwhelming sense of love spoke to the very soul of the heavenly deity. He never felt more proud of his creations than when they sought inner peace, and in essence, found the spiritual link residing in every one of their sparks. All they had to do was seek their Creator, and they would find him. His line of communication was always open, their sparks a direct link to his own.

But with the good also came the terrible.

War.

Poverty.

Slavery.

All of his creations put through the fires of the Pit. There were the few periods of peace and prosperity, but compared to the time stream of eternity, they were but blinks. Hatred filled their sparks. Those who were bore of lower caste were considered the dregs of society, giving the upper class citizens the cultivated masses needed to attend to their needs. Some of those needs were so perverse, Primus adverted his sight in shame.

A governing body was established during one of the rare moments of peace time, and though the intention was just, the sparks of those assigned to such lofty positions was never for the betterment of the suffering people. Personal agendas took priority, allowing a larger rift to form amongst the populace.

Primus extended his hand and sent his messages, every spark beating within his own spark. All their voices joined together. Peace was fragile and broken on many occasions, those who were answering Primus' call were lost without proper direction. Their attempts at uniting a fractured world was weak and easily overlooked, the governing body firmly entrenched into the footholds of society. So Primus decided to send out one last call. If his children did not correct their ways, he would allow them to fail. They had fallen deaf for too long. If they did not answer his last summons, then he would allow them to decay, wither away with time.

And so his call went forth.

Those in power could not hear his words, nor sense his presence in their sparks. Their sparks had grown cold and harsh, keeping them wrapped in the steeliness of their resolve and righteous superiority. Those who heard his call stood up and took notice, and unlike most documented figures of renown, it was not the Lords and Princes and Senators that graced the pages of history.

Primus' call was heard in the dark, underground rings of Kaon. And it was heard along the fast, bustling warehouse district.

A gladiator, fed up with the inequity, his hands stained with the lifeblood of his fellow Cybertronians. Spark pounding, he raged through the arena, terminating the glorified _owners_ and with voice raised high, he freed the enslaved, and rallied their sparks into following his lead. One of many such campaigns to his credit.

And in answer to the gladiator, there was a timid, yet friendly dock worker. He had been carrying crates off a merchants transport when the call was heard. He dropped the crate, his head canting, and something telling him to redirect his path into Iacon. Without knowledge of the upper districts, and unknown of his destination, he marched into the heart of the city, bypassed security measures that conveniently missed his presence, and ventured into the housing complex of the current Prime. With strong, confident steps, the mech sought the unthinkable. And as soon as his optics fell upon the regal Prime, he felt his chest swell. Unbidden his chest plates parted, and as the Prime and his delegates gaped at the stranger, the Prime jerked rigid, his own chest plates parting. And like a lost child finding its parent, the Matrix removed itself from its corrupted carrier to fly into the willing body of a pure, innocent, incorruptible young dock worker.

The old Prime fell lifeless on the floor. His job was done. He had bore the burden until his own spark was corrupted with the very thing that plagued his people and caused such strife. Every mech in the room followed their esteemed leader in death. Without a word, the ghostly dock worker exited the building and returned to work, the Matrix finding refuge in the purity of the spark that pulsed against its casing. It's time was near.

Now, even the most famous and noteworthy have their place in history, and though time would record them as the important ones, Primus knew otherwise. To protect the honored soul that carried the fractured piece of his spark, he had to make sure his symbol, and its bearer, would be well guarded. Primus smiled, granting sparks across the universe, creating them in their appointed time.

Being the all knowing God of the Cybertronian race, Primus realized that this uprising would be the last of its kind. For if his chosen champions failed, then his children would be lost. Their lives would be forfeit, because they refused to listen and forgot their heritage. The worst of times had to come to fruition, or else the blind would never see the fault in their existence. Primus felt saddened, knowing his children would have to suffer horrible atrocities, their very sparks singed by the fiery Pits, purifying and cleansing their dark spirits and allowing them to realize the distance they had with their creator. They would suffer, and not all would survive the trial. But it was one last desperate hope to show his children how far they have gone, and how far they must come to regain their place of honor.

It would take strength of spirit to endure the tortures of the world. Pain and suffering would be a constant companion, reminding those who had fallen, how far they had to go in order to reach the end of their journey. For when they were cast from the tempest of strife and damnation, they could stand strong, defending those who were too weak to rise from the ashes.

They must endure the horrors of war. And though they may fail, at least they would know in their sparks that they did their best. They had stood for what was right. They defended the weak, even at the cost of their own life. They protected the righteous and just, and though they may not understand their role in the forging of great leaders, they knew deep in their souls that their place was by the appointed mechs side.

That strength of character would not only define an individual, but it would allow them to carve their own place in history. They stood by their leader's side, upholding his judgments and following his command, even if it meant their termination. And though they would never rule a nation, their names would become legend.

Primus smiled, watching his newly appointed leader stumble about his life, not realizing the burden he now possessed within his worn frame. The time was soon approaching. This mech would rise beyond the others who bore the Matrix, and with his humble beginnings, he would forge the way to an everlasting peace.

But for him to do such great and honorable things, he must come to power, and though he may be surrounded by friends and loyal soldiers, Primus would trust no other than his own appointed guardians to protect his most precious bearer.

With a wave of his hand, Primus plucked a spark from the awaiting Well. At his command the spark split, and with his mighty hand, he placed the twin sparks in the time stream, sending them into a world that would not only ridicule and torment them, but would also grant them a most sacred place. The twin sparks took their frames, endured their trials, suffered through great agony, and when their time came to take their rightful place, they stood up without hesitation, ready to be of the service they were sent to provide.

They remained in the background, ensuring the chosen bearer of Primus' spark would be safe. Exhausted, beaten, battered and raw, the two sparks continued their struggle, remaining true to their duty and to their Prime. And though they were of lowly positions, both in life and in rank, they served dutifully, until Primus called for their return to the Well.

When they heard the blessed call, they both smiled, and faded from the physical plane, returning to the place from whence they came.

**00-OOO-IIII-0-O-IO-0-00-OOOIII-OOOO-I—O-OOOOOOO**

All mistakes belong to Jazz, who offered to beta but I have a feeling he procrastinated, then downright lied about getting this edited.

Reviews are welcomed… and inspire the muse on SOOOOOOooooooOOOOO many levels!


	51. Side Tracked

SIDE TRACKED

Yes, I know Lamborghinis sport a 'gull wing' door design. But, I see the Bots as able to manipulate their bodies any way they see fit for a situation. That's the only explanation I can think of when the bots transform around a human.** (Seriously, what was up with transforming around Chip and his wheelchair?)**

**I am currently have or working on requests for: Lambor Terror Lep, Blitz-Krazi1, two for Elita 2, and two for Aura Black Chan, two for Ditzymusiclover, Bluebird Soaring, Akira Alvina. I currently have three chapters outlined but nothing truly fleshed out. But it's a start and I'm hoping the muse will run with them. Sorry it takes so long but the muse just randomly grabs an idea and runs with it. I never know what she's going to do, nor when she will strike. I pray for all your patience. I WILL get to the requests. I just don't know when. **

**00-OOO-III-O-OIIIIII-OOOO-000-IIIII-OOOOOO**

Sideswipe raced through the streets, Bluestreak hot on his tailpipes. They took the sharp turns with ease. Well, the sports car took the turns with ease. Bluestreak grunted to maintain control and grimaced every time he fishtailed in overcompensation. The trek was wrecking havoc on his systems. His shocks would need attention, if not replaced all together. His struts were taking quite the beating, along with very sensitive junctures in his undercarriage. But no matter how much he hurt, or feared Ratchet's wrath, he did a very surprising thing.

Bluestreak didn't complain. In fact, he was so intent on losing his pursuer, nothing crossed his mind to voice aloud, other than the occasional grunt due centrifugal force. Datsuns weren't meant for these speeds or curb hugging maneuvers. Lamborghinis on the other hand, they were BORN for such tight courses.

"Just a little further, Blue!" Sideswipe yelled, taking an abrupt turn and heading down a disused alley.

"Thank Primus!" the gunner called back, dodging the debris and praying nothing bounced into his rims or undercarriage.

The duo shot out across traffic, a blur of blood and shadow, only to disappear down another alley. As soon as the two registered to other motorist, they were gone. Sideswipe took a right hand turn, earning a soft groan from his tires, and swerved toward the intended target. Bluestreak's tires screamed in protest, which thankfully drowned out the creaks and growls from his overtaxed engine.

Sideswipe disappeared into a narrow valley of concrete, flicking on his high beams, prompting Bluestreak to do the same.

"Where are we?" Bluestreak asked, panting from the exertion.

"Underground parking garage," Sideswipe answered, deciding on the lowest possible level. "Seeker scanners can't penetrate through all this concrete and steel. Not to mention, the seekers are far too big to fit in here, and just about every one of the Decepticons are afraid of dark, underground places."

"Really?" Bluestreak asked, genuinely surprised by the proclamation.

"Yeah. Ever notice how Cons are reluctant go underground?" Sideswipe maneuvered himself along the mix of other automobiles and extinguished his lights. Bluestreak's instantly followed. "Seekers are the worst, but if you notice, all the Cons seem to have a problem with being underground."

"How do they survive being on the ocean floor then?" Bluestreak wondered, filing away Sideswipes information for later use.

"Don't know," Sideswipe admitted. "Maybe it has something to do with the darkness there; they just think it looks like space. Or maybe the water is so blue; they think it's the sky. But I know for a fact that the seekers have to get out every so many solars to fly. "

"I can understand how they wouldn't want to be underground," Bluestreak muttered.

"They slander ground frames, but we're more resilient than they are," Sideswipe goaded. "At least I don't think claustrophobia is a glitch in the Autobots. Don't think anyone has a problem being underground."

"Gears says it's like being buried alive," Bluestreak added, remembering the day of the rather gruesome conversation. It still gave him nightmares.

"Yes, we'll he's always been one to know all the aspects of slow or painful deactivation," Sideswipe growled, finding a section of the garage that offered a more secure location. They were only two floors below the street, but eight more levels crowned the structure. The far side where the two were taking refuge was flanked by large office buildings, the back alley far too small to allow a jet to land and begin a search.

"What do we do?" Bluestreak asked, his frame giving an involuntary shudder. He had taken a hit that fried his transformation cog. He was stuck in vehicular form. Not a good mode for a sniper.

"We lay low, keep ourselves calm, and try not to draw attention," Sideswipe answered. "Pull in."

Bluestreak obeyed, putting his front bumper nearly flush against the concrete of the support stanchion. Sideswipe pulled in beside the gunner, though he chose to back into his spot. If trouble arose, he was the only one capable of warding off an attack.

Though how much of a threat he could pose was still in question. His weapons had been lost, and there was a nasty hole in his shoulder curtsey of a lucky shot from Starscream. His transformation had been rough and painful, but he had done what was necessary to speed to Bluestreak, who had been exposed during the fight and damaged. Thankfully the Autobots were near a city, and Sideswipe had led the injured gunner to safety as the Autobots fell back to regroup and wait for back up.

"The Cons knocked out my communications relay," Bluestreak said after a moment of trying different bandwidths.

"Mine as well," Sideswipe was reluctant to admit it to the already scared Datsun. "But we don't need to broadcast our location in case the Cons are close by. Don't need the company."

"But the Autobots won't know where to find us," Bluestreak exclaimed, his frame starting to tremble.

"Yeah, they will," Sideswipe said in nonchalance.

A roar of jet engine resounded in the concrete cave, indicating the Cons were still looking for their victims.

"Dampen your energy field," Sideswipe whispered as his signature dropped off Blue's sensors.

"Sideswipe!" Bluestreak hissed, reluctant to mask his signature. It was dark, cold, and with nothing but ordinary cars dotted here and there, it was lonely without the constant energy field brushing against his own from Sideswipe. He hated being alone, almost as much as he hated silence.

"Blue, open your passenger door," Sideswipe ordered. "No arguments, just do it."

The gray door slowly opened, as if not trusting its neighbor. Sideswipe waited until the door was fully extended, before opening his own door, slowly backing up until blood red met steel grey. Bluestreak relaxed, blanketing his signature.

"Keep calm and quiet," Sideswipe ordered softly as the sound of engines faltered then stilled as the jets landed on a wider street and were beginning to search for their prey.

"I don't like this," Bluestreak whispered, though his nervousness had been reduced.

Sideswipe sent a low pulse through his door, his arm rest flush against Bluestreak's. He knew the gunner wasn't normally so shaky, having been conditioned to spend hours in secreted locations, remaining motionless and out of communication range. It was basic training for snipers or those in Special Ops. What had Bluestreak so terrified was the thought of being stuck in alt mode, with no means of defense, no communications, and being left alone in a cold, dark, place while death circled overhead. It was Praxus all over again. Something the young gunner could never quite shake, no matter how extensive the training.

A car alarm went off in the distance.

"I think they're getting closer," Bluestreak whispered. "What are we going to do? No one knows where we are? How can they find us?"

"Shhhhh," Sideswipe gently admonished. "Don't worry. Help is on the way."

"How can you be sure?" Bluestreak whimpered, pressing his door into Sideswipe's for reassurance.

"You forget who you're with," Sideswipe said with a soft chuckle that instantly died when there came a resounding crash above them.

"They're here!" Bluestreak squeaked.

"So let's pretend we're not," Sideswipe added, sending a warm tingle through his door that carried through to the gunner. "Don't make a sound. Just let them bang around like glitches."

Bluestreak sent a return pulse through his door. He was grateful Sideswipe wasn't teasing him about his fear and he secretly hoped the ruby warrior wouldn't hold his irrational behavior against him. He liked the ruby warrior, and to some extent, his twin. Both were fun to be around and always had fun. Course, Bluestreak's disciplinary folder had expanded drastically since he started spending more time with the duo, but as he explained to Prowl, sometimes a bot was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was never any malice or revenge intended, and after Bluestreak's pleas, Prowl had begun to let some things slide.

A crash echoed, followed by the sound of renting metal. A building collapsed nearby, the vibration felt through the tires of the hidden Autobots in the underground garage. Humans began shouting, screaming, adding to the cacophony of stampeding feet.

Bluestreak fought the urge to cry. He knew Sideswipe was a formidable warrior and could take on anyone twice his size, but if the jets decided to attack at the same time, Sideswipe would be easily overpowered. He was good, but he wasn't supernatural. Bluestreak felt his unease ebb from the small pulses Sideswipe was feeding through the sensors in his door. He had to admit, Sideswipe knew how to calm someone. Nothing more sensitive than a doorwinger's doors, especially around the armrest where the sensors were more advanced due to their protruding nature. He wondered if Sideswipe knew that about doorwings or was just performing a natural, every day action to soothe shaky nerves.

"Shhh….. easy," Sideswipe muttered.

Bluestreak willed himself to calm, knowing that Sideswipe had his bumper. But how in the name of Primus were the Autobots going to be able to find the two wayward mechs in a city this large and a battle so chaotic?

Suddenly the sound of wrenching metal could be heard deep in the bowels of the underground. Curses buffered down, then came the steady staccato of weapons fire. Car alarms screamed, drowning out the vocalizations of the infuriated Cons. A sonic boom went off, rattling the parking structure so violently a shower of dust fell on the Autobot hoods, ghosting their paint. The sounds of crumbling concrete greeted their audios before the far away section of the building collapsed.

Bluestreak emitted a tiny squeak in alarm, but Sideswipe remained impassive. The Lamborghini settled low on his tires, the Datsun quickly following suit.

Laser fire erupted from somewhere up above, followed by muted shouts. There were no mistaking Starscream's null rays as they screamed just as loudly as their owner. Another explosion followed by the thundering of jet engines, angry shouts, and another sonic boom, then all was silent.

"Bout time," Sideswipe said, rising on his tires and pulling out of the parking slot. "Come on, Blue, let's get you to the doc bot."

"We can't go out there!" Bluestreak gasped, his panic returning when Sideswipe broke physical contact. "The Cons will get us!"

"Cons are gone. It's safe now," Sideswipe said, idling in place until Bluestreak moved. He didn't want to leave the gunner alone.

"How can you be so sure?" Bluestreak asked, clearly not believing the frontliner. "You don't know who's out there!"

"Bluestreak, I assure you, it's safe," Sideswipe said, turning on his lights to their fullest extent.

"Our communications are down!" Bluestreak added.

Realizing the gunner wasn't cottoning on, Sideswipe gave a small laugh. "Bluestreak, I don't need communications to know when my twin is near."

"Sunstreaker…." Bluestreak muttered, his processor finally catching up. "If Sunstreaker's nearby, then that means our friends are with him."

"That's usually how it goes," Sideswipe mused.

Bluestreak pulled away from his parking place and kept pace behind Sideswipe, who Bluestreak just noticed was favoring his left side. As soon as the two drove out into daylight, the sun fell on top of the ruby warrior and gave him a hard fist to the roof.

"Ouch! Sunstreaker! Knock it off!" Sideswipe barked in anger and pain.

"Fragger! Up and leaving in the middle of a fight!" Sunstreaker snarled, drawing his fist back for another strike. "Cons swarming all over and my idiot brother decides to disappear."

"I didn't leave out of spite," Sideswipe griped, transforming and pushing his brother away from him. When Sunstreaker made to advance, Sideswipe pointed his finger at the mangled Datsun. "Blue's cover was blown and the seekers were targeting him. He was outgunned and injured."

Sunstreaker halted his advance and took in the battered form idling silently behind Sideswipe. Ratchet rushed over, barking orders for Wheeljack to stay off his mangled pede and ride in Prime's trailer. When Ratchet spotted Bluestreak, his demeanor instantly softened and with a delicacy unheard of in the medic, he started to work on the damaged circuitry.

"How bad, Ratchet?" Sideswipe asked, turning from his twin.

"It looks like he went off-roading with Hound again," Ratchet grumbled, light from the welder flickering across his visage.

"Busted cogs, two ruptured hoses, and several burns," Ratchet prattled on, reading through the diagnostics scrolling through his HUD. "You're struts are compromised, transformation cog is offline, and it looks like you have a blown fuse that's disabled your launchers."

"Seekers," Bluestreak explained in a nervous chuckle, hoping Ratchet wouldn't employ his infamous wrenches. So far, the youngster had been spared such drastic treatments. He was grateful Ratchet had turned off his pain receptors, though his frame did give involuntary twitches from Ratchet's hasty field repairs.

Sunstreaker gave the battered gray hood a cross look that softened. "Next time do us a favor and don't blow your cover. I don't think we would survive long enough to explain to Prowl how we lost you."

Bluestreak opened his vocalizer to speak but Sunstreaker gave a curt nod and took his leave, Sideswipe following behind.

**00-OOO-III-O-OIIIIII-OOOO-000-IIIII-OOOOOO**

**Bluestreak love! Do you want to see more of Bluestreak?**

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**Every vote counts! **


	52. Sunday Drive

*screams and becomes a total fan girl* I died laughing! Go to youtube and look up "Drew Careys Improvaganza Episode 21"…. They do a Broadway musical for Transformers! And the song for the executioner at the end is to die for! *snort*

YOU ASKED FOR IT! MORE CUTIE** BLUE**!

*sees glare*

**000-OOOO-IIII-0-00-OOOI-0—I-I—I-I-I-IO-O-OOO-O-OOO**

Sideswipe rolled onto his side, his tanks threatening to purge.

"Oh, Primus," he groaned, his optics fighting to remain closed.

"Get up!" Sunstreaker yelled.

"Ouch!" Sideswipe whined, grasping his helm and covering his audios. "Volume Sunny"

Sunstreaker smirked, noting the signs of overenergizing. The fact that Sideswipe had been brought back to their shared quarters by a very annoyed Prowl also clued the golden mech into his brother's most recent activities. Add to the fact that there was the usual graffiti painting Sideswipes aft, and there was a high probability that he had overindulged, again, and lost who knows what in a wager against the resident cast iron tank.

"Have fun, did you?" Sunstreaker asked, hands on hips and staring at the groaning mass of ruby metal that once resembled his twin.

"Primus," Sideswipe moaned again, gasping at the boiling sensation in his tank.

"Close," Sunstreaker said, puffing his armor in a preen "But you're still on the duty roster for patrol this afternoon with Bluestreak."

"Can't do it," Sideswipe said, rubbing his midsection in an effort to sooth his discomfort.

"Do you think Prowl will let you off the hook so easily?" Sunstreaker asked, poised like an irate God over a supplicating minion.

"Cover?" Sideswipe muttered, trying to plead with his twin but finding the urge to purge to be causing him great distress. He opted to send his torment over their bond. So caught up in his own misery, he didn't see his brother flinch from the wide open bond now sharing their pain and suffering.

"Fine," Sunstreaker said, crossing his arms over his chassis and looking away in disgust. "I'm always stuck with covering for your drunken aft."

Gratitude flooded the bond.

"But I want something in return," Sunstreaker said, pointing a finger at his twin but Sideswipe's optics were closed and missed the gesture.

Hurt and anguish was his answer.

"Cute," Sunstreaker snorted, tapping his pede and causing Sideswipe to moan and roll onto his front, pressing his face into the cushion of the berth. The neat scrawl of Smokescreen's writing was visible on his aft.

"I think Smokescreen should visit a psychologist," Sunstreaker said, adding the "written on aft tally" to 1821. Smokescreen must be an aft mech. He certainly liked to write on it more than any other body part. Not to mention that Sideswipe made a very amicable message board when inebriated.

"This weekend, our quarters, all to myself," Sunstreaker said, stating his terms.

A muffled noise was his reply.

"I've been watching an art program on the human broadcasting and I would like to try to blend the mediums. To do that I need peace and quiet. Two things I know you're allergic. So, next weekend, for seventy two hours, you will not step a pede inside our quarters. Deal?"

Sideswipe gave a thumbs up, that quickly turned into a mad gasp for the waste receptacle as he purged his tank. The congealed energon splattered, causing Sunstreaker to sigh and turn away.

Sunstreaker left without another word, hoping his brother didn't get any of his sick on the floor or his berth. If he did, there was a good chance that he'd migrate to Sunstreaker's berth, and repeat the process. Sunstreaker would hate to have to murder his twin.

"Sunstreaker," Prowl greeted at the entrance to the ARK.

Sunstreaker offered a curt nod in affirmation before finding Bluestreak's gray frame babbling away to Hound and Preceptor who were needing a third opinion on a recent sample. Unfortunately Bluestreak had a tendency to stray off topic and now both mechs stood looking bewildered and a little confused.

"Come on Motor Mouth," Sunstreaker yelled, transforming and revving his engine.

'Where's Sideswipe?' Bluestreak asked when he gained the other mech's side. Sideswipe was his usual partner on Sunday patrol.

"Charging,' Sunstreaker replied with another rev.

"Oh,' Bluestreak said, looking a little worried. He got along great with Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker, well, _no one_ really got along with him. He was trouble on four tires.

"It's alright, Bluestreak," Prowl said, typing on his datapad. "Sunstreaker agreed to the shift modification last night when I spoke to him."

"Sideswipe over-charged again?" Bluestreak asked in a timid way. He wasn't sure what Sunstreaker's reaction would be and he either wanted back up from the senior officer, or to look adorable enough to prevent a throttling. Either way, he wasn't taking any chances.

"My brother is an idiotic sot," Sunstreaker said, then started rolling toward the road that lead into the city. "Come on Blue. We have asphalt to cover."

Bluestreak exchanged a mixed look with Prowl, who gave a nod in silent excuse and turned to answer a summons by Red Alert. With a sigh of defeat Bluestreak followed Sunstreaker to the horizon. As they navigated the twists and turns that marked a typical Oregon road, Bluestreak couldn't stand the lone rustling of wind over his grill. Weighing his option of being throttled into stasis by an overzealous Lamborghini, versus the pained silence that haunted his waking hours, Bluestreak opted to start a conversation. His words were cut off as Sunstreaker spoke.

"You're quiet today," Sunstreaker said, enjoying the feeling of having the wind whipping through his grill.

It felt nice to sample Earth's clean air. It always lifted his spirits. Usually Sideswipe accompanied Sunstreaker on his scheduled patrols, being the only one who could withstand the violent temper and acidic words. Not to mention Sunstreaker enjoyed a heavy pace that only someone with a modified engine could keep. Thankfully, Bluestreak was formatted with all the right modifications. He kept an even pace with his patrol partner.

"Not sure what to say," Bluestreak admitted. With the other Autobots it was easy to talk. The topics flowed with ease and his vocalizer kept up without hesitation. With Sunstreaker, he had to chose his words carefully and navigate the non-defensive course of conversation, least he end up in a ditch on the side of the road.

"That's a first for you," Sunstreaker jibed, finding the elation in his spark that meant his twin was unconscious again.

Bluestreak made a soft noise that sounded like a hurtful sigh, his acceleration lagging just a fraction.

"You can talk," Sunstreaker offered, feeling a sadness wash over him. He knew Bluestreak's history. "I don't mind _a little_ conversation."

Bluestreak perked up, his engine revving as he gained the couple of paces from Sunstreaker.

"I know it gets annoying,' Bluestreak started, feeling as if he needed to explain his compulsion to his partner. Hopefully Sunstreaker would understand and not beat him into stasis. "But I grew up in a family unit of six. There was always noise and activity and companionship. After Praxus fell, there was only silence."

Sunstreaker remained quiet, listening to the gunner and finding a new respect for the mech he normally considered to be a nuisance.

"All the bombs and explosions. People screaming, shouting, filling the airwaves with static and pain,' Bluestreak said, delving back into the memories he despised. "All of my people, screaming for help. Asking for the horror to stop. Begging for mercy. Then all at once, nothing. All of their voices were muted, as if they never existed."

Sunstreaker turned onto the highway, his scanners employed but he ignored them in favor of his partner's recollection.

"My family was gone. All of my friends, terminated," Bluestreak said, feeling that sinking feeling in his tanks that threatened to drown him in sorrow. "I'll never hear their voices again. They were lost in the silence that took my city. But when I talk, it's like I'm talking **to** them, just waiting for them to answer. All I have to do is keep talking, and they will hear me and answer back. They_ will_ hear me."

"I'm sorry, Blue," Sunstreaker said and for once, he meant it. He knew the gunner had survived the destruction of Praxus, but he never realized how much it still haunted the talkative mech. He knew that Praxian's were generally a very close knit city, their community built on bonds of family and friendship. It was difficult to imagine being surrounded by loved ones, then have them taken away and thrown into solitude. The idea of being parted from Sideswipe, however annoying he was, Sunstreaker couldn't imagine never having to see, hear, or sense his twin again. It was a bewildering thought.

"I have the Autobots as my family now,' Bluestreak said, pulling himself from his daze. "I'm no longer alone. I have a lot of people to talk to now."

Sunstreaker offered a snort of derision. He didn't like talking. He didn't like people. And he didn't like people talking to him.

But instead of giving him his usual comfort, the fact annoyed him. He swerved to avoid a pothole and almost collided with Bluestreak.

"Unit of six?" Sunstreaker asked, finding the number to be rather high for a Cybertronian family unit.

"I had two brothers and a sister," Bluestreak said, feeling his spark pang at their loss. "My older brother, Rapidfire, used his body to shield me when our housing unit collapsed."

Sunstreaker frowned, waiting for Bluestreak to continue, and then wished he hadn't.

"One of the structural beams snapped in two and pierced his spark chamber," Bluestreak said, his voice dropping low with the pain of memory. "He was smiling at me and telling me to calm down when he terminated."

Sunstreaker felt something inside his spark chamber beat out a frantic pulse. The idea of staring into the optics of a loved one as they terminated was something that haunted Sunstreaker during his charging hours. Yes, he had terminated mech and femme alike. Yes, he had done so with great joy, and equally, hollow detachment. In the gladiatorial rings, it was kill or be killed. There was no room for error or sympathetic weakness. The same rules applied to war. But there was something about having the one you love perish right before your optics. His attention was drawn back to his patrol partner when Bluestreak continued speaking.

"Do you mind if we stop somewhere?" Bluestreak asked.

"Not really," Sunstreaker said, mulling over the young gunners words.

"Follow me," Bluestreak said, taking an exit ramp and heading toward one of the many vistas that overlook the ocean.

Sunstreaker knew the place that Bluestreak was directing them to, but held his vocalizer. Sunstreaker had painted many a sunrise from this particular location. When the duo reached the overlook, they transformed. Bluestreak stepped near the edge of the railing the humans had put up to prevent cars from driving off the cliff. The railing came up to his ankle.

"Do you see that cove?' Bluestreak asked, pointing to the sharp niche cut into the rock face.

Sunstreaker nodded, having the early morning sunlight as it painted the crashing waves when they hit the rocks. When the new dawn crested on the horizon, the violent water in the cove provided a myriad of color and dancing light. Sunstreaker loved this cove.

"That shade of blue, there at the recessed point of the cove," Bluestreak said, his optics fixed on the ocean that captured his attention. "That was the color of my creators. They were both a deep shade of blue. That is the exact color of their plating… when they were alive." Bluestreak's servo pointed to the far edges of the water, where it lapped in brutal waves against the sharp rocks. "The foam that forms along that ridge looks like the pale yellow of my femme creator, Chatterbox. She was in the communications tower when the seekers destroyed it."

Sunstreaker could feel the hurt and turmoil, crashing and rolling like the waves down blow. Not knowing what to say he opted for silence, allowing Bluestreak the chance to continue.

"My sire was a mech by the name of Broadstroke," Bluestreak added, his optics fixated on the patch of ocean that reminded him of his lost family. "He was a dock worker, but he always had a passion for art." Bluestreak looked to his silent partner, his optics lit up with happy promise. "You would have gotten along great with him. He would have loved your work."

Sunstreaker offered a half smile, not sure what to say. He didn't like conversations for this specific reason. Emotions. Feelings were brought up and openly displayed and though Sunstreaker could terminate a mech without hesitation, discussing feelings scared him more than going head first into battle. He just didn't know how to cope. And going back to the ARK while feeling like this was sure to end badly. For someone. Sunstreaker needed time to sort through his emotions and to file them away so they wouldn't interfere with his normal, caustic attitude.

Primus, is this what Prowl feels? Is that why he's always so distant and seemingly emotionless?

Sunstreaker frowned, not knowing why all these thoughts and emotions were weighing so heavily on him. It wasn't like him to experience such things. That was more Sideswipe's aspect of their bond. Realization hit like Devastator's fist. Sideswipe was unconscious, which meant that Sunstreaker had to deal with the emotional aspect of their bond without having his twin to run the metaphorical interference. If this was what Sideswipe experienced all the time, Sunstreaker just may have to cut the fragger some slack.

Maybe.

"What do you say, we stay awhile?" Sunstreaker asked, taking the bold step of sitting on the edge of the vista, mindful of the railing. He didn't think it was wise to go back to the ARK.

"If you want," Bluestreak said, a little too eager to plant himself on the lookout, his gaze drifting to the alcove that shimmered with the colors of his family.

The traffic in the distance faded away, commuters returning from their liturgical practices to attend lunches and family gatherings. Since the day was sunny with a gentle, cooling breeze, most opted for the park or down by the beach. The two Autobots on the lookout were safe from prying eyes and nosy humans.

The duo sat in silence for an hour. Sunstreaker found it refreshing and was grateful his companion was able to hold his vocalizer so he could sort through his emotions. When he turned to speak to his companion, he was struck with the melancholy displayed on the usually naïve and boyish face. It didn't seem right. Such dark and heinious things should never haunt someone with such a good spark and gentle demeanor.

'**Red Alert to Sunstreaker,'** Red Alert's voice came crackling over the comms.

'**Sunstreaker here. What do you want?'** Sunstreaker answered, watching Bluestreak's face as he stared morosely at the cresting water below.

'**Tele-Tran reports you have been stationary for the last ninety-seven minutes,'** Red Alert said, sounding suspicious.

'**We are surveying the ocean and will return to base when we're slagging ready,'** Sunstreaker said, cutting the transmission.

Sunstreaker's attention remained fixed on Bluestreak, who continued to stare at the water. A part of Sunstreaker wanted his brother there so he could beat the slag out of him and deal with the emotional turmoil now boiling in his spark chamber. His thoughts were interrupted when Bluestreak turned to him, his normal happy-go-lucky self back on his face and giving Sunstreaker an expectant look.

"You ready to go back?" Bluestreak asked, his expression looking rather forced.

"We can stay a little longer, if you like," Sunstreaker said, settling himself in a comfortable position and gazing out over the crystalline waters.

That seemed to be what Bluestreak wanted to hear. He gave a happy chirp and followed his companion's gaze across the water. The sun crawled across the sky and sat on the horizon, watching the two lone Autobots on the vista. With great reluctance, it dipped behind the sea, sending its last rays toward the beach in goodbye. When darkness had fallen, Sunstreaker rose to his pedes, hearing a pop in his joints that meant he'd been stationary for too long. Bluestreak mirrored his actions, though his joints only offered a soft hiss of hydraulics. He was used to remaining statuesque for long periods of time due to his sniper training.

Sunstreaker was surprised the Praxian had remained quiet during the rest of the day. But with his gaze mesmerized by the secluded cove, he had very little to say. It was a welcomed relief. But with the darkness hovering over Bluestreak, Sunstreaker didn't think there was anything to say to lift his spirits.

"Ready?" Bluestreak asked, turning toward the road and transforming.

"If you are," Sunstreaker said, storing the images he took into his memory banks.

As the duo headed back to base, Bluestreak's headlights leading the way, Sunstreaker ran through the shifting colors that he witnessed while in the company of someone else's memories. When he got back to his quarters he found them Sideswipe-free, and spent the next few days collecting the supplies he needed for his weekend project.

The next weekend, Sideswipe was unceremoniously kicked out of the quarters he shared with his twin. Griping and protesting he went to Blaster's quarters, seeing how he was the only bot without a roommate due to his musical snoring. Sunstreaker left his makeshift studio only once to collect a couple of cubes before returning to his quarters, no one offering comment on his paint splattered body, or the paintbrushes tucked into the side of his windshield like a smock.

When Bluestreak awoke from charge early Monday morning, it was to find a wrapped package at the foot of his berth. Frowning he pulled off the paper and couldn't stop the gasping cry that escaped.

A perfect rendition of the cove was frozen forever on the canvas. The hues of the blue ocean frosted by pale yellow foam, was the exact color of his lost creators. The water looked as if it was in motion, crashing on the rocks, the spray offering a ultra-violet rainbow as the dying sun caught the vapor.

Bluestreak sat in awe, staring at the masterpiece, tears of coolant leaking from his optics. There was no doubt as to who was responsible. Sunstreaker's Cybertronian symbol was delicately blended into the lower right hand corner. The golden mech had captured the depth of the water, echoing the depth of longing and pain from the mech who gained a modicum of connection with his long-lost family. Bluestreak was granted a little glimmer of peace, even if it was only available on canvas.

As Bluestreak stared at his gift, Sunstreaker exited the ARK, whistling a little tune and causing the other mechs to steer clear. If Sunstreaker was in such a happy mood, there was a good chance the sky was about to fall, Decepticons would declare their unrequited love toward the Autobots, and the Pit Maker would dance naked with Primus around the sun.

Sunstreaker transformed and zoomed off to the horizon, chasing the sun to its resting place.

**000-OOOO-IIII-0-00-OOOI-0—I-I—I-I-I-IO-O-OOO-O-OOO**

**Awwwww… aren't they both just darling? **

I would say cast your vote for who you want to star with the twins next, but I'm afraid of the outcome. Not to mention I don't want my requested peeps feeling left out.

Oh, I already have an outline for the next chapter! It's a brief glimpse into the lives of the twins when they signed up. (WEG)

Don't be afraid to leave me a note!

I'm almost at 600! Gosh! *faints* If I can get **a lot** of reviews, I'll post an extra chapter on Tuesday. Is that incentive enough?


	53. A New Side

**A NEW SIDE**

Prequel to Chapter 42: A Formidable Streak

Huge THANK YOU to: **Starfire201, Blitz-Krazi-1, Kimmie98, Amy (hello and great to hear from ya!), Angelcakes19, Guest, SEZwho94, Aura Black Chan (your message box is closed so I couldn't send you any messages), Lovely Rain Dancer, Tiamat1972, Elita-2, StarLitDawn, Cmdrtekk, Lady-Nebkhat, AD Axel, KayleeChiara**… My gratitude is in your Inboxes on the site… and don't worry.. I killed it before stuffing it in there. :D The twins have taught me SOME things….. I'm not clarifying past that.

No Bluestreak in this one I'm afraid. But there's everyone else… hehehe

**00-IOO-OOI-0-O-IO-IO-0-000-OOOO—IOO-IOOIO-00IO-I00I00-OOIO-0I0**

"Welcome to your first self defense lesson you processorless glitches," Ironhide barked, spinning on his heel and stalking down the line of new recruits. "You think you're tough? Well, you're not! You think you can outwit the enemy? You're mistaken. You think you can defeat a Con by sheer strength? You're a weakling. You think you can outmatch a seasoned soldier? You're about to get your aft handed to you."

A soft snicker rent the crowd. Several bots stiffened, their optics going wide when they noted the red mech in front of them falter. They pressed their lip components together in a thin line, proving they were not the source of the disruption.

Ironhide missed his step when he heard the mirth. He halted mid-stride, turning on his heel and staring at the scared and ramrod straight recruits. Each one showed the proper amount of fear and respect that the weapon's master garnered. A glimmer of red caught his attention.

"Do you have something to say,_ femme_?" he barked to the obviously guilty mech.

A cheeky smile was sent his way before a strong, male voice answered, "Plenty."

"Well then, why don't you come forward and educate the class, if you're so skilled," Ironhide barked, motioning for the mech to join him in front of the recruits.

"Gladly," the red mech said, sauntering forward. He was shadowed by a golden mech who kept his optics trained on the red armor in front of him. When the red mech stood in front of Ironhide, he offered a wide, friendly smile that the weapon's master did not return.

"Who's the turbo puppy?" Ironhide asked, nodding toward the silent gold mech.

Before Ironhide could blink, the gold mech had punched him twice in the face and flipped him onto his back, his arms pinned beneath him and pain filling his sensor net. A golden pede was planted on the middle of Ironhide's chest, ensuring his immobility and attention. The red mech knelt in front of the disabled mech, his charming smile still in place.

"That is my brother," he said, nodding toward the golden mech. "His designation is Sunstreaker. I am Sideswipe."

"Get off of me!" Ironhide yelled, struggling with the odd angle. He never felt so helpless, nor so embarrassed, in all his life. How the mech got the drop on him, he'd never know.

"Let him go, Sunny," Sideswipe said, returning to a standing position. Sunstreaker released Ironhide's cursing form and retreated behind his twin, his optics hard and unwavering. With the same lightening speed he clipped his brother upside the helm, sending him staggering sideways.

"Don't call me that," Sunstreaker growled, his deep bass voice sending shivers down the other mechs' spines.

"As you can tell, we are well versed in the art of self defense," Sideswipe said, rubbing the side of his helm and casting his brother a reproachful look, which was reciprocated. "I suggest you allow us to excel to the next lesson, where we may actually learn something of importance."

Ironhide gained his feet, staring malevolently at the two who dared to interfere with his class.

"Self defense huh?" Ironhide taunted, widening his stanch and taking a defensive posture. "Think you could take me down."

"In a spark beat," Sideswipe smiled.

"Let's see you try, _femme_," Ironhide jibed.

Sideswipe canted his head, Sunstreaker mirroring the action. And before Ironhide knew it he was flat on his back again staring up at a smiling Sideswipe. Though the mech was attractive, Ironhide was getting tired of looking up at him upside down.

"How did you do that?" Ironhide barked, scrambling to his pedes and squaring off against the relaxed and easy going mech.

"Fighting in Kaon taught us a lot of tricks," Sideswipe said, jerking his head toward his brother who scowled in answer. "We can defend and we can kill. Have no problem with either. You point us to who you want terminated, and we'll get the job done. Without hesitation."

Ironhide stared at the two, his processor active. The Autobots could use the skills these two possessed. And from the way both handled themselves, and rendered Ironhide immobile, then there was little that the weapon's master could teach them that would assist them in doing their job. The main thing Ironhide had to worry about was a mech's ability to terminate another's spark. Most recruits had a difficult time in adjusting to the role of obedient soldier. Apparently that type of training was unnecessary with these two. A welcome change.

"Report to Ratchet for full medical check up," Ironhide said, softening his stance in a show of non-aggression. "Have to make sure you're up on all virus scans before we send you out to face the enemy."

"I'll be slagged if I _'face_ any of them," Sunstreaker said, his deep timbre causing that damnable shudder to run through so many spinal struts.

Sideswipe snickered at his brother's joke and lead the way from the stunned weapon's specialist.

"Wonder who will be doing our scans?" Sunstreaker said, following his twin into the main command area.

"Hope it's a femme,' Sideswipe said, waggling his brow plating in a suggestive manner.

Sunstreaker made a noncommittal noise, glancing at the directional signs in the hall. He made a mental note of the Armory and Main Command Center. It would be wise to know their location in case of an attack.

The med bay doors were the usual pristine white with the red markings and sigils for medical care. Sideswipe puffed his armor, flexing his powerful build and stepped forward, activating the doors. They opened without a sound, allowing admittance. As soon as both brothers crossed the threshold it was utter chaos. White clad medics were bustling about the room scanning over readouts and nodding in affirmation of findings. Almost every berth sported a mech or femme. One medic performed a system check while another checked over structure. Another hooked a hardline into the patient and scoured through virus programming and checking on intelligence modules. Those with extra skills were being lead off by specialists for testing and further training, herding them toward questionable futures. All those clad in white were gruff, burly looking mechs who seemed more interested in their tests than their actual patients.

"Slag," Sideswipe sighed, looking at the scanning medical personal. "All mechs. Just our luck."

"You there," A medic called, pointing to the twins. "Find a berth and await your turn. Stay out of or way and you won't get slagged."

"I'd like to see you try," Sideswipe smiled before sauntering over to a free berth and sitting down. Sunstreaker joined him, as was their usual custom. One didn't go anywhere without the other.

A white clad mech showed up, frowned at the two sharing a berth, then shrugged, starting his integrity scans. Both new recruits showed wear to their bodies and lack of proper nourishment, which was rather common in the current war torn cityscape. But their physical infrastructure scans were good, considering the normal weakling builds coming through the door. Both of these new mechs wore dense, protective armor that wasn't found in the general population. Formatting them to combat armor wasn't necessary. Their own armaments were more than capable of withstanding combat. Close range fighting and weapons fire would also be easily deflected.

Without a word the medic hurried off to the next mech in line.

"That was odd," Sideswipe said, watching as the medical staff danced in a crazy pattern that sent the processor spinning. One would think they were crazed and uncoordinated but when the twins watched the dance more closely, they realized that they were working in tandem. A coordinated dance of life and death. Beautiful, Efficient. And from the raging coming from one medic in particular, it was proving to be disastrous as well. Apparently not all medics were privy to the syncopated dance and were throwing off their counterparts.

"What were you thinking?" the burly medic yelled at a cowering recruit who had two junior medics cowering behind him. "Structural integrity is at eighty one percent. Prior damage, untreated, leaving behind residual scarring that will impede neural connectivity. Processor damage and two compromised major circuit boards and you think you were going to let this mech get placed in the ranks?"

A loud squeal of fear came from the mech before he keeled over into unconsciousness, exposing the two cowering medics behind. The screaming white medic turned away, his gaze zeroing in on the two bright colored mechs sharing a berth. He stalked up to them, expecting them to cower like all the rest. But both offered relaxed gazes. Well, the red one was grinning in an idiot. The yellow one was scowling, optics hard as titanium.

"Separate," he barked.

The two mechs looked to one another and then back to the medic and shook their heads.

"No," The red one said. "We stay together."

"Is that so?" the medic asked, barreling down up on the two.

Now, any normal mech or femme would see that look the medic wore and know they were about to meet the Pit maker. But the two mechs on the exam berth merely offered cool looks and unwavering frames. They weren't going to be swayed by the mechs thunderous orders.

"Designations?" the medic asked, staring between the two who dared to disobey his orders.

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker," Sideswipe answered, pointing to himself and his twin. "What's your designation?"

"Ratchet. CMO of the Autobots. And you better remember it!" Ratchet's voice thundered from the underworld.

Most mechs in the room flinched. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker merely gazed with impassive expressions at the one who ruled the medical ward with an iron fist clutching a wrench.

"Reason for enrollment?" Ratchet asked, sizing up the two recruits.

"That's our business." Sideswipe said.

Much to Ratchet's chagrin, the ruby mech wasn't twitching under his reproachful glare.

"Oh really?" the medic asked. "So you expect me to believe that two able bodied mechs such as yourselves volunteered to fight for… what? Equality? Compassion? Protecting innocents? Prime doesn't have time to entertain glitched idiots who are looking for a quick rush." He gave a derisive snort, looking from one to the other. They resembled the usual mechs who were all vocalizer and no substance. Half of the recruits weren't physically or emotionally stable enough to fight. The other half had difficulty in pointing a weapon and taking another's life. Ratchet was curious as to which category these two would fit.

"This new Prime seems to have his cogs in working order," Sideswipe said with a half shrug. "And we figured he could use some help." Sideswipe offered a quick, serious expression before treating back to his quirky grin "And we're just the mechs for the job."

"Qualifications?" Ratchet asked, skeptical about the two. He doubted that either were serious about fighting. Most mechs were all talk and no action.

"Pit fighting in Kaon" Sideswipe said, sending his twin a jubilant pulse when Ratchet emitted a startled beep. There was just something about the way bots reacted when they found out you killed for a living. It was priceless.

"You going to give me problems?" Ratchet asked, one optic cocked in expectation. He knew the type of personality that thrived in the illegal gladiatorial rings. They were trouble wrapped in chaos and hidden behind mischievous malice.

"Only if you want us to," Sideswipe smiled.

Ratchet noticed Sunstreaker's quiet demeanor and asked, "Do you speak?"

"When needed," Sunstreaker offered, his scowl still entrenched on his face.

Ratchet huffed but didn't press. He motioned to the new vacant berth beside of them and nodded, "You, over there. You, stay there."

"We stay together," Sideswipe said, all jovial mood gone in a spark beat.

"I'm not joking," Ratchet said, optics narrowing.

"Neither am I," Sideswipe put in. "Run your scans, but we won't be separated."

Ratchet paused, staring between the two sets of unblinking optics. Both were a cold, icy blue that bore directly into his spark. He felt a shiver around his spark casing. These two didn't take orders very well. They were going to be a handful.

"Very well," Ratchet relented.

The green spray of a scanner erupted from the medic, gliding over Sideswipe's ruby armor, then to Sunstreaker's. Both twins watched for signs of recognition when the scanners passed over their chests. Every medic had the same response. Shock. Incredulity. Fascination. ….fear.

They were abnormal. They shouldn't be alive. But yet, they broke all odds and strived in a world that physically demanded they couldn't exist.

But Ratchet made no motion of understanding. No startled expression. His scanners passed over their chests twice. Sunstreaker tensed, ready to act at a moments notice. He didn't like the solemn look the medic wore. The disquiet unnerved the golden gladiator. Ratchet should be showing the usual signs of disgust and loathing. It was what the twins had come to expect from every one who attended their structural health.

But Ratchet didn't display any of the normal reactions associated with finding split spark twins. He adjusted his scanners and ran the tests again, the green light dancing across the two chassis.

A second medic came up, hardline connection at the ready to scan for viruses and to check for upgrades, but Ratchet waved him off. The dismissed medic gave his superior a confused look, but ventured to the next patient without word.

Ratchet's open hardline connector extended from his left wrist. He stepped forward, grasping Sideswipe's hand and connected their ports.

Sideswipe felt his firewalls fall away as the medical overrides threw his systems wide open for inspection. Beside him Sunstreaker tensed. He could sense the intrusion upon his brother's mind. Though he wasn't the one enduring the excavation, he could sense the unease and surprise filtering through their open bond. Main systems were opened and checked, virus programs were pursued, data caches were scoured.

But memory files and subfolders that made a bot who they were, were overlooked. Systems were reconfigured, offering Sideswipe a surprising ability to calculate and react, his processor speed nearly doubling as Ratchet deactivated basic programming that became redundant with adulthood. Being a Pit fighter for who knew how long, Sideswipe didn't have the maturity to understand how his processor worked and therefore, didn't know how to turn off the instinctual settings that were no longer needed in adult frames. His intelligence quota was higher than expected for a lowly pit fighter. Most were considered just dumb brutes who fought, killed, or stared at blank walls until ordered to perform a task.

"You need a deep system scan and defrag," Ratchet said to Sideswipe. "I'm going to initiate the sequence. While you're out I'm going to remove the damaged circuitry to your shoulder and reinforce the actuators on your left side."

"I have pile drivers that slags my structure," Sideswipe admitted, feeling his brother's anxiety over the thought of being unconscious with this unknown mech affecting 'repairs'. Sideswipe sent reassurance to his twin. The medic was right. Sideswipe did need repairs and a good defrag. Sideswipe could never get his systems to apply that aspect of his programming.

Worry and fear seeped into the bond and he sent a half glance to his brother. Both were startled when Ratchet spoke to Sunstreaker.

"I take it you are in the same condition?" Ratchet said, not waiting for a confirmation. Still connected to Sideswipe Ratchet opened a port on his right wrist and reached for Sunstreaker.

Unfortunately Sunstreaker wasn't in a mood to be touched. As soon as Ratchet brushed against his plating, Sunstreaker lashed out, cuffing the medic on the face in warning. And before Sunstreaker knew what was happening, Ratchet had reciprocated with a powerful slap that sent the golden mech reeling. As Sunstreaker tried to recalibrate his equilibrium circuits, Ratchet grabbed his wrist in a deathlike vice and slammed into his firewalls so hard Sunstreaker gasp at the ferocity.

Sideswipe stared open mouthed at Ratchet. No one dared to touch Sunstreaker. Well, people dared all the time but they rarely survived the encounter. Sideswipe was dumbfounded as to how Ratchet still existed.

And the surprise flowing through the bond sent his processor into a dizzy whirlwind. Sunstreaker didn't like anyone. He never wanted anyone around. Didn't want to talk. Didn't want to socialize. Didn't like to be challenged.

And Ratchet just cuffed him like an unruly sparkling with the speed and agility that rivaled the Pit fighters' own. Not only was he fast and accurate, having knocked Sunstreaker's circuitry into a chaotic mess that he was having a hard time recovering from, but Ratchet had done so without fear of retaliation or possible termination. He had reacted as the twins, with careful, precise attack, though Ratchet didn't intend on terminating his patient. He just wanted cooperation.

"I'll initiate a shut down sequence," Ratchet said, as if he never touched the stunned golden mech. "You should wake up feeling a lot better than what your slagged up systems are currently reading."

"You know we can terminate you in the blink of an optic, right?" Sideswipe asked, feeling something boil within his twin that made his tanks clench.

"And you know that one strand of errant coding and I can crash your systems so badly you spend the rest of your limited existed in a state of unfathomable misery and suffering?" Ratchet asked unperturbed.

"But there are _two_ of us," Sunstreaker said barely audible. His optics were narrowed as he sorted through his emotions to find out what emotion he should center on. And decide if he was going to kill this insolent medic.

"And I know that if I terminate one, I'll terminate the other," Ratchet said, his voice dropping so low only the twins could hear. He looked form one to the other, his expression sharp and unrelenting. "I have dealt with twins before. You may believe it gives you leeway for obnoxious behavior and that gives you some right to bestow your warped sense of humor on others. But know this," Ratchet took a step closer, looming over the duo and shielding them from the rest of the medical facility. "Just because you are split spark twins does not mean you garner any special privilege or ranking. You are just any other mechs on the street. You mess with my patients or destabilize the function of my medical facility, and there won't be a pit deep enough you can go that I can't find you. Am I understood?"

Sideswipe beamed a glorious smile, looking up into the optics of the only one whoever treated the twins as any normal mech.

"Abundantly clear, Ratchet."

Ratchet looked to Sunstreaker, who still had his torn expression. With a slow nod Sunstreaker added, "You are understood."

"Good," Ratchet said, starling both twins with the strength along the hardline connection as both felt an overwhelming pressure in their processors as the medic began their deep stasis procedure. Primus, the medic had a powerful processor!

"When you wake up, you'll feel like you just walked off the factory floor." Ratchet said with a smile that seemed more predatory than reassuring.

"I'd settle for less aching in my processor," Sunstreaker admitted, feeling a burning sensation along his neural net.

Ratchet leaned over the golden warrior, causing him tense. Sideswipe's presence curled in his twins in reassurance.

"Believe me when I say, that in my medical ward, you will get nothing but the best," Ratchet said, starting the shut down cycle so his two patients could get some rest before he affected their repairs. "And you will never be treated as differently as any other mech."

- }_... - }_ …. - }_}_... - }_ …. - }_}_... - }_ …. - }_}_... - }_ …. - }_}_... - }_ …. - }_

Sunstreaker awoke to strange sensation. He was content, comfortable. His body wasn't aching or sore. The berth was well cushioned and a warm body was pressed against his side. He opened his optics and looked to his right shoulder and felt Sideswipe curl tighter around him, his arm draped over his brother's midsection. Sunstreaker thought back, trying to remember where they were. It obviously wasn't the Pits or a hostelry. The room smelled too clean. It was when his main systems booted up that he remembered.

Structural integrity was at one hundred percent. Processor activity was rising steadily toward the same percentage. Neural synapses were firing with razor sharp efficiency. Fluid pressures were at optimal level. System caches were cleaned, filed in orderly fashion, redundant programs turned off and in some cases, erased all together. The irritating scrolling text was gone from his HUD. Core temperature read along the normal parameters and there were additives flowing through his lines that made his body feel fresh and newly activated. Power levels had never been so high, reserves showing ample compliment. Energon levels were low, but that was nothing new. Numbed areas were once again sending signals, making the golden mech feel small inside of his own body. Now he felt as if he could 'move' inside his own frame without being restricted by broken hardware, limited energy reserves, burnt out circuit boards and deadened areas where damage had rendered plating and circuits numb.

Sunstreaker had never felt so good. What in the name of Primus could have done to deserve such astute attention to detail? Where did all these meticulous repairs with a caring servo come from?

Then it hit him.

They had enrolled with the Autobots. Their CMO had decided to repair the hasty patch jobs the PIT medic had performed. Sunstreaker shifted, noting that his right knee joint didn't squeak anymore. Sideswipe's arm tightened around his middle, his face burrowing further against golden armor as if trying to go through it.

Sunstreaker sighed. Sideswipe always was a cuddler. But he could understand the lethargy. It felt good to be pain free. Sunstreaker stared at the sleeping helm of his twin and felt a gentle peace brush against his spark. Sideswipe was content, his systems showing the same amount of care and professional touch that a true medic could provide.

Sunstreaker had expected the medic to separate him from his twin, seeing how the Pit maser had used the tactic many times to punish the duo. But the medic did in fact have experience with dealing with twins. Both were placed in the same small room on the same berth. There were two cubes of energon on the side table and a stack of datapads.

He looked to Sideswipe again and noted how shiny his armor looked. Apparently the medic ensured a full detailing as well. Sunstreaker felt along his grill and smiled when he realized it was cleaned. And upon closer inspection, Sunstreaker found himself polished like a gilded mirror as well. He smiled, reveling in the feeling of being cleaned to utmost perfection. A mech as handsome as himself could never be dulled and dingy. The medic certainly knew how to treat patients.

Speaking of medic, the door chime signaled a visitor before opening and allowing the medic admittance.

"Feeling better?' Ratchet asked, datapad in hand as he glanced up to see Sunstreaker's narrowed optics.

"Much," Sunstreaker admitted, his voice rumbling from deep in his chassis, causing Sideswipe to stir.

Sideswipe sat up, rubbing his optics. He looked to his twin and offered a strong pulse through the bond, letting his twin know his feelings. Sunstreaker rose from the berth, having been freed of his brother's hold, and returned the sensation.

"Took a while to get your systems properly cleaned," Ratchet said, going over the datapad in his hand. He tapped a few symbols before stowing the pad away in his subspace and staring at the two mechs. "I'm surprised the two of you are even functioning. Do you know the extent of damage that was done to your frames? Not to mention the fragged up programming you had that was riddled with so many glitches, I had to dump half your cache and rewrite the codes!"

"Feels great," Sideswipe said rubbing the side of his helm.

"Well, before you go spouting sentimental slag, we're going to check to see if there is any residual damage," Ratchet said, grabbing two datapads off the table and handing one to each twin. "I need to ensure your codes are in working order. So I want both of you to go through these simple tests while I link to your systems. If you feel any discomfort or if something doesn't make sense, let me know. I may have to write a patch."

"Understood," Sideswipe said, taking the datapad.

Sunstreaker took the other and as mirror images both twins turned on the screens and extended their wrists toward the medic. Ratchet fought back an urge to jump for joy, but he extended the two hardline connections from his wrists and connected to both simultaneously.

The twins scoured the datapads, finding that Ratchet was correct in telling them how simple the tests were. When the first one was complete, Ratchet nodded to the next phase, his connection active in pursuing glitches.

As one unit the twins went through every level of the datapad, though Ratchet had only instructed them on the first two tests. Each level increased in difficulty, testing not only a bots recognition and cognition skills, but testing their flexible ability to formulate, plan, and chose the right answer for each scenario. Ratchet remained quiet, allowing the twins free reign, his processor scanning their neural nets and processor activity.

When the tests were complete both twins offered Ratchet the datapads. He disconnected from their systems and took the pads, setting them on the desk once more.

"If you feel up to it, there are a couple more tests I would like you to do," Ratchet said, grabbing the last two datapads and handing them over.

Both twins took them and extended their wrists, giving permission for the medic to connect to their systems once again. But Ratchet shook his head, the two hardline cables retracting into his wrists.

"Hardline isn't necessary for this test," Ratchet said, pulling out a scanner.

"This has nothing to do with being twins, does it?" Sunstreaker asked, having a feeling that someone was once again trying to use the twins as an experiment.

"No. All personnel have to perform theses tests," Ratchet said, holding up the scanner. "I'm only going to be monitoring your physical reaction."

The twins offered derisive noises but turned on the datapads. The first test was merely a brief questionnaire, most questions relating to the idea of termination and how best to terminate an opponent. Most recruits balked at this particular aspect of a soldier's life. They skirted the questions and always went to the next test with nervous disposition.

But not the twins.

They answered the best way to terminate a mech or femme, even giving detailed descriptions of the suitable way according to frame type. When the question popped up about taking a life, neither hesitated in answering 'yes'. Emotional questions arose, asking if they had a difficult time in charging and if taking a life would affect that aspect of their lives. Both had exchanged a look, smirked, answered 'NO' and moved on to the question of where a spark goes after termination.

Sideswipe answered, **"To the Well."**

Sunstreaker answered, **"Who cares as long as they don't come back."**

Ratchet watched the twins with a practiced optic. He had noted the damage to their bodies and the unmistakable taste of a master's handling upon their protoforms. He had no doubt that either wouldn't mind terminating someone if asked to do so and by both of their calm spark pulses, the idea didn't disagree with them. Vitals registered steady and calm.

The last test showed pictures of various wartime atrocities. Most recruits cringed or gagged, and a few had even fainted upon seeing the images. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker viewed them with neutral expressions, Sideswipe sometimes offering commentary on a crude suggestion. When they were finished the twins handed the pads back, looking as unperturbed as ever.

"That it?" Sideswipe asked.

"That's it," Ratchet confirmed and nodded to the two full cubes of energon on the table. "I suggest you refuel. Ironhide has requested that the both of you give a demonstration to the more advanced level recruits."

"Can do," Sideswipe said cheerfully, reaching for the cube. His tank chose that moment to emit a rumble. He turned guilty optics to Ratchet, who only frowned in answer.

Ratchet subspaced a datapad and handed it over to Sideswipe, who took it with a sour expression. "It's a schedule, not a test. You are expected to report to Ironhide for weapon fittings."

"Oh good," Sideswipe grinned, downing half his cube. "I always wanted a **big** _cannon_."

Sunstreaker offered a snort and sipped at his energon.

"If you have any problems, don't hesitate to contact me. You will be assigned quarters by the end of the joor," Ratchet said. Without another word he grabbed the datapads off the table and took his leave.

Jazz was waiting outside when Ratchet closed the door on the already infamous twins.

"Well, how are they?" Jazz asked, as eager as ever.

"See for yourself," Ratchet said, extending the testing pads.

Jazz took the data pads, his optics scanning over the twins' answers. When he got to the end he shook his helm in slow motion.

"They scored only two points below you," Ratchet said with a smirk. He loved pulling surprises on unsuspecting mechs.

"Primus," Jazz muttered, going over the tests and staring at the precise calculations and counter answers.

"And they took only a third of the standard time,' Ratchet added, feeling his spark flutter when Jazz squawked in disbelief.

"They finished?... In…?" Jazz sputtered, his optics wide behind his visor.

"They almost beat Prowl," Ratchet said, knowing the Praxian was going to be interested in those who neared him in time and efficiency.

"Oh, we are going to have to monitor these two," Jazz said, turning toward the hall and falling into step with Ratchet.

"Oh yes, we will," Ratchet answered, grinning.

"They are going to be invaluable officers," Jazz said, staring at their test scores again.

"If they can stay out of trouble," Ratchet amended.

"Trust me, with intelligence like this, trouble is the last thing on their processors," Jazz said, offering one of his 'I know it all' looks that made the CMO snort through his vents.

"I don't know," Ratchet said, giving Jazz a critical optic. "You give us enough trouble as it is."

Jazz offered a big grin. He knew Ratchet was telling the truth. But Jazz never did anything to endanger his comrades or jeopardize a mission. He was fun loving, but he was smart. Sometimes a little _too_ smart.

"You wait and see," Jazz taunted, handing the datapads back to Ratchet so he could enter the test scores into the mainframe along with his findings. "They'll be just like Prowl. All calm and efficient and with the intelligence they are displaying, they'll be officers in no time. You mark my words."

Ratchet shook his head and departed, leaving behind a very self-assured Special Ops agent.

**00-IOO-OOI-0-O-IO-IO-0-000-OOOO—IOO-IOOIO-00IO-I00I00-OOIO-0I0**

**Feel free to bury the muse in reviews, afterall it makes her work/update faster! And I try to answer the reviews as soon as I can… except those who have their inboxes turned off or dont sign in. You know who you are. ;)**


	54. Streak Into Danger

**Streak Into Danger**

**Requested by Prowls little angel- *points* That's where the blame goes! Muhhahahha**

**HUGE THANK YOU to: Kimmie98, Elita-2, KayleeChiara, mdnytryder (good to see you back!) angelcakes19, guest1, guest2, SEXwho94, AD Axel, Lovely Rain Dancer, StarLitDawn, Starfire201, Aura Black Chan (keep trying!), Osprey2012 (no plans yet but I'll keep you in mind), VaRa129 (good to see you back as well!), Blitz-Krazi-1, Guest3, DitzyMusicLover, Guest4 (Jazz was never a good fortune teller) and Prowls Little Angel **

***Hugs to all!***

**And I'm sorry ya'll but I have to say no to requests right now. Even having worked on three and having them close to being done, I still have nearly a dozen and I want to work on the ideas people tossed my way. All ideas are important and count, its just I don't have time to write as much as I would like. So I want to get those people caught up first… not to mention I have about 25 ideas of my own that need fleshed out. I'll let ya know when I'm open to ideas again… but its going to be at least until January… muse willing. **

**ENJOY… **

**-I-O-OIOOOIIOIO-I—I—00O0-0O0-0-OIO-OI-0-O-I-O-O—OI—O-IO0000OOO**

'**Prowl to twins,'** Prowl called over the comms.

'**Sideswipe here,'** the ruby Lamborghini answered immediately. There was a soft growl in the background that was Sunstreaker's offer of affirmation.

'**What is your present location?'** Prowl asked, his engine open to its fullest extent.

'**What's yours?'** Sideswipe asked in a sultry manner. He noted the Second's strained voice and wanted to goad him into a potentially perverted conversation.

'**No playing, Sideswipe!'** Prowl snapped. His voice was harsh as his engine started to red line**. 'There is a high pursuit chase in progress and though I have sufficient modifications, I am unable to keep up with the suspect. I am in need of assistance.'**

'**What is your current location?'** Sideswipe asked, grabbing his brother from the auto parts store and dragging him to the parking lot. Before he could finish the sentence, Prowl's location was pinged. **'ETA thirty-one seconds.'**

Sunstreaker followed his brother out of the parking lot. Both hit the highway and though Prowl would blow a gasket if he found out, they engaged emergency sirens. The slower traffic immediately pulled over, giving the two Lamborghini's free reign. With the wind rushing through their grill, the duo gained the last of the pursuing patrol cars, disengaging their own sirens for fear of reprisal. Like a mechanical ballet they wove expertly between the slower human vehicles until Prowl's rear bumper caught their attention.

'**There is a police intervention set up within the next three miles,'** Prowl reported, his engine whining in protest to the extended exertion. **'Get the suspect to that location, but do not engage yourself.'**

'**Come on, Prowl, we're big bots,'** Sideswipe cooed, his engine purring in contentment. He brushed past the patrol car, his EM field offering an affectionate tingle that was answered with an annoyed growl. Sunstreaker followed suit, though he waited until there was ample room and zoomed out in front of the patrol car. He flashed his taillights with a mocking reflection of Prowl's own lights before taking a substantial lead next to his twin.

'**Do not pursue the suspect. Just get him to the police line and they will handle it from there,'** Prowl warned, watching as the twin Lamborghinis easily outpaced him and raced to the horizon.

'**Oh, yummy,'** Sideswipe called when he noticed the conveyance of the suspect. **'Human must be smart, evading police with a Ferrari.'**

'**It's stolen,'** Prowl added, dropping his speedometer to a more sedate pace, though he was still cresting the one hundred mark.

'**Pity,'** Sideswipe said, admiring the curves and angles of the Lamborghini brethren. **"Makes it all the more pitiful that its going to have to be messed up.'**

'**Do not engage the Ferrari!'** Prowl snapped, knowing he just sealed so many fates. What was he thinking, bringing the twins into the chase? Other than they were the closest Autobots, their engines were built for such pounding of pavement, and both were more than apt at subduing in both vehicular and root mode. Still, Prowl didn't know what had overcome his senses to make such a rash and now obviously idiotic, decision.

'**I don't need to engage it,'** Sideswipe crowed over the comms. **'I just want some bumper with no commitment.'**

'**Gross,'** Sunstreaker grunted. The thought of laying a servo on a non-sentient vehicle seemed wrong to the golden warrior. He'd rather have some sass with his interface. Quiet, disinterested, vacant company was not what cranked his pistons.

'**Hey, a bot can dream,'** Sideswipe added with a laugh, gaining on the red Ferrari.

'**Sideswipe, fall back!'** Prowl yelled over comms. **'Sunstreaker! Disengage **_**now**_**!'**

'**We can deal with this Lamborghini wannabe,**' Sideswipe answered, accelerating just a bit and inching closer to the other red bumper. He was a full car length away and sending his twin giddy sensations across the bond that Sunstreaker ignored.

'**The humans are going to deal with it and you will be caught in the middle!'** Prowl yelled, wanting so badly to throttle two bots for not listening to him. Well, he should have known. When either were going over one hundred, their audios shut down. Jazz was guilty of the same flaw as well, but rarely did the Porsche disregard Prowl's direct orders.

'**Just tell the humans to move out of the way,' **Sunstreaker said, flanking the other speeding Lamborghini. He was so close to Sideswipe, they could feel each other's energy field rippling in excitement.

'**They already have,'** Sideswipe yelled, noting the road ahead was devoid of black and white barricade. **'I think they're going to let us deal with it.'**

'**Good,'** Sunstreaker said, barely noticing the pattern of scattered law enforcement. Something seemed off. He just didn't know what.

'**Brake now!'** Prowl screamed, seeing the fast cars meters away from the police cars lining that section of road.

The twins' answers were lost in the ensuing chaos. The Ferrari, being one length ahead of its chasers, was the first to suffer the first pangs of defeat. The twins faired no better as they crossed the unexpected threshold just a second behind the other Italian masterpiece. Loud reports filled the air. Brakes were slammed, rear ends fishtailed to compensate. The smell of boiling rubber and burnt oil filled the air that was punctuated with dual screams of pain.

The twins came to a shuddering halt, their frames shaking so hard it rattled their plating and made it appear as if they were suffering internal earthquakes.

A man staggered from the Ferrari in a daze. Sunstreaker took a mental capture of the man's visage before howling again in torment as he rolled to the berm. He came to a stop with his frame shuddering hard enough to loose the plating.

'**Ratchet!'** Sideswipe called on all frequencies. Terror and pain was lacing his voice as he made the call. Sunstreaker was glad he didn't make the call. He'd be mortified if he allowed others to hear _that_ tone coming from _his_ vocalizer.

'**What?'** Ratchet answered, sounding like a scared teenager caught doing something they shouldn't.

'**Help!'** Sideswipe pleaded, caring less if others listening to the comm. would hear his desperate plea.

'**Location?'** Ratchet asked, but his question was answered before it was finished being spoken. Prowl sent an emergency call for assistance and the exact coordinates of the downed twins.

'**On my way,'** Ratchet called, having already gained the entrance to the ARK and transformed. He was joined by Jazz, Hound, and Ironhide. Prime was inside the ARK gathering troops for the second, auxiliary wave.

Ratchet tried to hail the twins but both only answered in simpering whimpers and pained cries. It was enough to wretch the spark right out of the medic's chest. Whatever had befallen the two, it was bad.

When the Autobots pulled up it was find Prowl kneeling beside of Sunstreaker. The humans were keeping well clear of the Autobots, several packing away items in their trunks and looking anywhere but the mechanical aliens. Jazz and Ironhide went to Sideswipe and found the ruby mech unresponsive.

"Just allow me to.." Prowl was saying, but Sunstreaker cut him off.

"No! Don't you dare touch my circuits until Ratchet gets here!" Sunstreaker snapped. The pain in his voice was tangible.

"I am only offering to assist," Prowl stated, looking toward the pounding of pedes along the highway. "Had you obeyed my direct command, all of this could be avoided."

"Shut up you slagging piece of glitched up scrap!" Sunstreaker shouted. Any other verbal bashings he intended toward the SIC were drown out by guttural cries and violent shaking.

"Sunstreaker! What happened?" Ratchet asked, coming to the golden mech's side and shoving Prowl out of his way.

Sunstreaker rattled his plating with the tenacity of pain rippling through his frame. All four tires were blown and his chassis should have been resting on the asphalt due to the mangled rims, but Sunstreaker was hovering over the concrete, his frame shaking with the exertion to keep himself aloft.

"Slag it, you're going into stasis whether you like it or not," Ratchet said, unable to take the heaving whimpers coming from the disabled warrior. He knew Sunstreaker protested to being unconscious but when circumstances were this dire, there was little alternative.

"Prowl, you fragging bastard!" Sunstreaker snarled as Ratchet popped the hood and connected to the downed warrior. "You'll pay for thi…"

Sunstreaker's systems shut down like a power outage. He sagged onto his mangled rims, earning a hideous, grinding squeak as he lowered to the pavement. When he was sure Sunstreaker was in deep stasis, Ratchet grasped one of the mangled wheels and held up a twisted piece of metal that didn't belong to a Lamborghini frame.

"What is this?" Ratchet asked, turning to look at Prowl with a curiously dark expression.

"The humans employ effective means of immobilizing those engaging in reckless driving," Prowl stated, noting the growing darkness across Ratchet's visage.

"What is that thing?" Jazz asked, hiding a shudder at the cruel looking device.

"Humans use two variations of the same tactic," Prowl explained, nodding toward the miniature piece of barbed wire. "That one is called a 'Jack', while the long stretch of metal that was thrown across the highway was called a 'Spike Strip.'" Prowl looked to Jazz's shocked face and added, "It's not what you think."

Jazz took a closer look at the 'jack' held in Ratchet's servo and felt a shiver run through him. It looked like metallic tumbleweed. Who would devise something so heinous? And it was more than scary such things were called 'spike' strips. The thought made another shudder run through the Porsche.

"Humans run over these instruments and it blows their tires, allowing them to slow their vehicle and submit to arrest," Prowl explained, his own engine was having a hard time cooling down from the exertion he put on it. He was going to have Ratchet give him a once over when they got back to base, damage to the twins permitting.

"And the twins ran over these…. These… " Ratchet growled, holding the offending object up between thumb and forefinger in front himself and the SIC.

"They were warned to cease the chase and fall back," Prowl said with indifference as the silent threat was waved so close to his chassis.

"You know those two!" Ratchet thundered, tossing the metallic tumbleweed aside. It bounced across the asphalt where an officer picked it up and added to the patrol cars trunk. "They're idiots! They're like hounds on a scent. You send them after something, especially something that's _**fast**_, and they'll run it into the ground or until they demolish it!"

"I had not considered such flaws when I radioed for assistance," Prowl said, now feeling a little guilty. Both mechs were in bad condition due to his oversight. He steeled his resolve and hitched his doorwings in a display of superiority. "I will not make the mistake again."

"You better hope you don't," Ratchet growled, seeing Prime appear in the distance. "Because if you do, I will insert those jacks into every available port I can find and be rest assured I will not be gentle nor biased to their location."

Prowl suppressed a shudder at the thought. He offered a nod of understanding, knowing that even in such circumstances, Ratchet had full medical authority and could override every single mech in the command, including Optimus. He was the true back strut of the Autobot command chain. Who knows where the crew would be if Ratchet wasn't around to fix their self inflicted accidents and crazy schemes. Wheeljack alone could be a museum centerpiece.

Prime pulled up, transformed, and looked between his berated Second and still fuming Medic.

"What happened?" Prime asked, already getting a sinking feeling in his tank.

Ratchet was livid. There was a chance some bot, probably Prowl, wouldn't last the night.

"Jackaft here didn't think and sicced the twins on a Ferrari which resulted in them running over barbs that not only punctured their tires but managed to inflict a lot of damage to their rims," Ratchet reported, giving the two silent hoods a fatherly look before turning his attention back to Prime. "And there is a good chance that the 'Jacks' bounced up into their undercarriage, causing untold damage."

Prime remained quiet, his attention going to Prowl. Prowl flinched with a doorwing but held under the heavy gaze.

"I did not realize the damage that could be inflicted." Prowl said in all honesty. He had seen the police devices used many times with little to no damage done to the errant vehicle, aside from punctured tires.

"Lamborghinis are built for speed, which means their frames are low slung to hug the road," Ratchet growled, throwing a dirty look to Prowl. "They are so low only a sheet of paper can pass under them when they're opening their engines. What were you thinking, sending them toward such devastating devices?"

"It was an oversight that you have my solemn vow, will not happen again," Prowl said, watching as Jazz and Ironhide picked up Sideswipe and carried him toward Prime's awaiting trailer.

Ratchet gave an angered huff and left the guilty Praxian with Optimus. The two exchanged one quick glance before following Ratchet.

"Hold on a minute," Ratchet called to Ironhide and Jazz. "Hold him up so I can get a look at the damage to his undercarriage."

Both bots complied, though with Jazz's shorter nature, they weren't able to hoist the Lamborghini very high. Ratchet's growling exhaust was the answer. He knelt on the pavement, looking at the multiple punctures, leaking hoses, and to his great annoyance, the cruel metal jack embedded deep in Sideswipe's fuel tank. Ratchet rose to his pedes and called attention from the gathered Autobots.

"Sideswipe's fuel tank has been punctured and the jack is still stapled into place," Ratchet nodded to Sunstreaker's inert form as Hound and Trailbreaker offered to lift the unconscious mech for transport. "I'm guessing Sunstreaker is in similar shape. I don't think it's safe to lower them on their undercarriages."

"We can hold them," Ironhide offered.

Jazz gave a reproachful glare. He was as strong as any Autobot, but he didn't have the strength to keep Sideswipe's inert form hovering for too long.

"Prowl, take Jazz's position and assist Ironhide into Prime's trailer for transport," Ratchet ordered, jerking his head toward the stunned Porsche.

Prowl riled with the order but complied. He was closer to Ironhide's height so holding the disabled Lamborghini between them wouldn't be as taxing.

"Carry them inside and sit yourselves down if possible," Ratchet instructed, Hound and Trailbreaker making an excellent impromptu hover-berth. "Try not to let their chassis touch the ground."

Prowl took two steps with his burden before there was a soft tinkling noise followed by intense pain on the bottom of his right pede. He hopped with pain, causing Ironhide to jostle Sideswipe to compensate.

Ratchet marched past, optics focused on getting the twins situated inside the trailer. He offered a caustic, "Suffer with it," as he passed and directed Hound and Trailbreaker in a comfortable position with Sunstreaker's inert form balancing between them.

Prowl winced with every step, the spike now buried in his pede refusing to allow him to put full weight on the cruel edge. He hobbled into the trailer, gratefully took a seat, and adjusted Sideswipe's framework on his knees. The ride back to base was bumpy and painful. Little pieces of Lamborghini would fall off or an errant piece of twisted metal would dislodge from its anchor and clatter to the floor.

It took Ratchet and Wheeljack over eight hours to repair each Lamborghini from the damage done by the spike strips and tire jacks. When Sideswipe came to, it was to find Prowl seated on a berth beside of him, his lap filled with datapads.

"What are you doing here?" Sideswipe asked, his body tender and aching all over.

"I am awaiting medical care," Prowl said without looking up from his work.

"How long have you been waiting?" Sideswipe asked, hearing Ratchet exit his office and storm to greet his two favorite menaces.

"Four days," Prowl answered, shifting on the berth and wincing from the pain along his pede. He had personally removed the barb from his foot, but Ratchet had refused to repair the circuitry and wires.

Sideswipe rolled his head toward Ratchet, who was checking over Sunstreaker's vitals. The golden twin was still unconscious, though the gentle brush of his spark was still sending signals to his brother in a constant motion.

"Four days?" Sideswipe asked as Ratchet joined him by the berth. He knew better than to try to get up. Ratchet would throttle him. Not to mention his body was so sore and stiff, he didn't think he could move without yelping.

"And it will be longer, providing the healing rate for the both of you," Ratchet said, noting the discoloration around the weld marks. The repair nanites were still hard at work.

"Us?" Sideswipe asked, blinking owlishly at Ratchet.

"Prowl's injury is minor and will be healed within a couple of days," Ratchet said, placing a cube of energon by Sideswipe's head and plopping a bendy straw in the liquid. "When the two of you are sufficiently healed, I will see to Prowl's repairs. Until then, he is to suffer along with his victims in the hopes that he will remember this folly and not repeat it in the future."

"Fix him,' Sideswipe said around the straw. When Ratchet's face turned dark, Sideswipe added, "He's learned his lesson, Ratchet. There's no need to be cruel."

"I beg to differ," Ratchet growled.

"Don't punish him for something we did," Sideswipe said, and his voice took on a strange lilt. "It's not Prowl's fault we didn't listen. We hardly ever listen to him, so its own our fault that this happened. Please, Ratchet, just… fix him."

"Didn't know you cared," Ratchet groused, already retracting his digits to expose the tools he would need for the minor repair.

"Had enough of that kind of _punishment_ in the Pit," Sideswipe admitted, startling both mechs with his admission. "It's not right to punish one for another's mistake, least of all, someone we were trying to help."

Prowl felt his tank clench. Now he was feeling twice as guilty. How could Sideswipe DO that? The mech could make you hate and love him at the same time. It was supernatural! And more than just a little annoying.

Ratchet didn't know how to respond. Instead he turned his attention to Prowl and said, "This will take an hour, two at most. Afterwards, you are to keep off this pede for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, have your work brought to your quarters and keep your leg elevated."

Prowl nodded, already comming his request to Jazz, who he knew would add some of his own datapads to Prowl's 'homework.'

"Thank you," Prowl said first to Ratchet, then turned to Sideswipe and repeated, "Thank you."

Sideswipe smiled and captured the straw, drinking his cube in silence. He and Sunstreaker had learned a long time ago that pain is an excellent teacher. And this lesson had been well learned.

**-I-O-OIOOOIIOIO-I—I—00O0-0O0-0-OIO-OI-0-O-I-O-O—OI—O-IO0000OOO**

Next posting will be a request but I'm not saying whose. You'll have to tune in and found out.

Reviews are loved and appreciated!

(Good? Bad? Been done to death?)


	55. UndeSided

**UndeSided **(I know its misspelled, shut up)

Requested by **BLITZ KRAZI 1.**

Also, I'm doing a little poll here folks. Should I keep posting on Friday or would another day be better? I understand that not everyone has access all the time and I just wanted y'all's vote on which day would be best all around for posting. I know a LOT of people post on the weekends and there's a chance that since there's so much, my updates can and have been lost. So, should I change it to another day so there isn't as much posting and there's a better chance the system wont be clogged and alerts missed? I was thinking TUESDAY myself, but whatever day gets the most votes will be my new update day.

I'm LEAVING IT TO YOU READERS! SO EVERYONE LET ME KNOW WHAT WORKS BEST FOR YOU!

**HAPPY THANKSGIVING** and the next posting will be the day that gets the most votes. Mystery here...

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I sit and stare at the screen. The object of my attention is split in two just like the bane of my existence. Why, in the name of Primus, did the infernal twins get stuck wearing Autobot sigils? Where is the justice? Prime should have had both of them deactivated vorns ago, but still they plague my waking moments and some of my charging ones as well.

Many a time I have woken in a strange place, with a berth partner who most certainly wasn't there went I went to charge. And there were the rare times that I woke up next to either twin. Sunstreaker would offer his usual sneer before removing himself from my side. Sideswipe would hug me close and make lewd comments that earned him a stint in the brig.

Which was where both twins were currently stationed.

Again.

How can either keep functioning in an army where every servo is needed and yet they still test my patience and nerve function and get thrown in the brig? Sideswipe has informed me of his running tally for multiple things he believes is worthy of notoriety.

I've had to take up monitoring the troublemakers myself, seeing how they've offlined Red Alert so many times, it's unhealthy. And Sideswipe has a tally for that too.

The mech is deranged.

I have tried to appeal to Prime but he merely waves off my suggestions and tells me to keep up the good work in keeping them in line. Last time he made such a comment I reminded him of the hundred thousand incidents that filled both service records. Prime was flabbergasted and had the audacity to laugh at some of my finer points. I found no amusement in their sheer volume, nor their content.

I stare at the monitor on my desk, my workload temporarily forgotten. What is it about these two? Why do they vex me so?

The occasional prank is fine. I see no problem in soldiers blowing off their 'steam' as the humans put it. But to cause pain and mayhem, destruction and irritated circuits, without point or reason, just too simply _**enjoy**_ it? Well, I just don't understand what makes those two function. Jazz said it was because they have 'free spirits'. I reminded him that most of their time is spent behind bars.

Their actions are counterproductive to the desired outcome.

They sit on their berths, a perfect mirror image of each other. I've tried putting them in the same cell and each time ended in disaster and extensive repairs. They can't be together during incarceration. Makes me wonder how they can survive living in the same quarters.

That **is** a puzzle.

On the occasional time I've had to incarcerate one, some how, inevitably the other ends up outside the guilty's cell. There's been several instances where the bars were deactivated and both twins ended up sharing a berth, their innocent frames in perfect contentment.

Strange.

They fight and argue and force me to take action, separating them and keeping them apart. But yet, even when so jailed, both lean against the wall, as if the metal isn't there and fall into charge in identical poses.

My attention is drawn from my musings when both twins lay down on their berths, pressing themselves against the wall where the other resides on the opposite side. They power down into charge, a peace settles on their faces, giving them such an innocent, childlike quality.

Which goes to prove the point of how looks are deceiving.

Both are troublemakers and have driven many mechs, myself included, into a raging frenzy. I'm ashamed to admit to such a slip of my control, but there's just something about those two that drives me to distraction. More than once I considered assigning them to different sectors or teams. And each time such a thing was possible, against my better judgment I prevented their separation, even rallying to their defense.

I wonder why?

Certainly one alone would be better to handle than both together. They feed off each other like parasites, which in a way, they are. Their annoying behavior and lack of morality make them undesirable as someone to share a command post.

But then again, I'm reminded of the times that one has been injured. The Pit Maker himself couldn't keep the twins apart. Ratchet fumed over their antics, but everyone realized it was for show. He cared for the two on a more personal level. Which was odd, because they tormented him almost as much as myself. And though I'm loathe to admit it, their dedication to each other is admirable. When one's life hangs in the balance, the other is close by. Admittedly, I have never witnessed such raw display of open fear as when I gaze upon the face of the one keeping vigil. I've seen bondmates waiting for word of their mates survival. I've watched creators and sparklings alike as their loved ones terminated.

But there is something different with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.

Something… indefinable.

Maybe it has something to do with their unique physiology. Being spark split twins may have unknown side affects. Though I don't hold much weight to emotions and find them to be more detracting than helpful in a situation, there is something inside me that breaks when I see either twin's face, standing by the bedside for their bleeding and shredded brother. The look of loss and terror made my own spark falter. I would never admit such things aloud, but in the company of my own thoughts and musings, I'm at liberty to be honest.

Perhaps that is why I do not assign them to different teams.

Out of curiosity I bring up the twins files and read over the basic information. Fighting in the illegal gladiatorial circuit for an extended period. No recollection of previous employment, nor records of their younglinghood. It was as if both were built to fight, right off the assembly line.

Oh. Now there's a thing.

Of course that scenario was a high probability. Though the gladiatorial rings were considered illegal, that label was mainly for show. The influential boasted of stopping the trade and eliminated the fighting rings to preserve life. In reality, they were the biggest supporters and even the Primes of old had been known to allow mechs the chance to the All Spark where they could rebuild their forces. If they suffered heavy losses and earned favor with the social elite, there was the chance to replace their ranks to continue the games.

Events that surround the twins escaping the gladiatorial circuit are still a mystery as both refuse to discuss what happened and Sunstreaker's temper becomes especially volatile. Though no one would begrudge them for doing what was necessary to escape, they refuse to talk about it, even to Smokescreen. He has offered many times and each time was met with intense resistance and even violence. The one time I had made it mandatory, they had proceeded to trash Smokescreen's office and spent the next cycles in the brig, where they remained true to form, perfect mirror opposites with a wall dividing them.

OH.

How could I have missed this before?

However the twins came into existence, whether by expecting creators or by a fight mogul hoping to swell his ranks, they were never alone. Being one spark split into two bodies gave them the disadvantage of having to be near each other lest they suffer physical pain. I've witnessed such a thing a few times before. When duties demanded the twins be separated, they functioned for a short time before falling into a severe depression and painful lethargy that rendered them immobilized. It was like their sparks were draining away, their will to live fading as they couldn't sense their other half. A couple of times it had been close, and after the last time, Prime ordered that both never be far apart. He didn't want to lose the best warriors we have over something as trivial as separation. Perhaps that is what stays my own servo in separating them?

My optics is drawn to the monitor again and the two slumbering forms on the screen.

They could suffer such torment and ache, having their other half of their soul removed so far from them. It must be agony. One minute they can feel the other and then the next, cold, dead, silence.

They are unique. They are trouble. But they are also quite the conundrum.

Why cause such dissent that I must put them in separate cages? What drives them to be so disrupting they must be locked away?

Like the mountain falling on me, realization hits.

The twins lived most of their lives in the gladiatorial rings. They were used to the incarcerations. And if their original master knew of their unique condition, forcing them to separate could have been used as a correctional means. No wonder they huddled so close together during charge. They can't consciously be together for an extended period of time, both being individuals and needing their space and privacy, but they also need each other. Being sent the brig is a way to be apart, yet close.

There was also the chance that they were kept in isolation due to their sparks, or maybe just as precaution on their master's part. Even after al these vorn and different planets and duties, the twins revert back to the time when they were mere property. They acted up, gained their master's attention, and then sent to solitary, where could enjoy peace and quiet and simply be with their own thoughts. They could have solitary, and yet companionship.

Not to mention that their punishment detail always ensures they are in neighboring cells. I would never space them too far apart to serve out their sentence. In the past, I've even had cell mates moved so the twins could be near each other, lest they suffer unnecessarily.

I'm amazed by this little insight, but I won't share it. Not with Prime. Not with Smokescreen. This was something that I had to learn for myself, and something they will have to come to realize if they ever take the time to ponder the puzzle that is our resident twins.

My datapads call, the duty roster needing augmenting due to the two of my mechs now serving a one week suspension for painting everyone's sigils to the Deception purple. No one was thrilled by the prank, especially since human dignities were due to arrive for a 'meet and greet'.

I know that both twins will be restless when they wake up, and I intend on ensuring they think twice before pulling such a prank again. I know the lesson wont stick but I can still imagine their compliance.

Perhaps I will shorten their stay? Now that I realize their underlying need for solitude and though it's hard to define, they need someone to tell them to remain in a cage. Their freedom was something that was foreign and disconcerting. They needed structure. They needed guidance. They needed someone to put them in their place and to lock them away when everything became too much.

I don't recall reading such a thing in my job description, but I will happily accept this new role.

**-00-OIIO-O-0O-I-O-0000OO-IIII-OIOOO-0OO-OIO-0-O-I-00-OOO-O-0-OO-O-0OOO**

Is that what you had in mind my dear?

Reviews are loved and answered and the next chapter will is another request! Gotta get these things out the door! It's a fire sale! LOL


	56. Suns of Honor

**Suns of Honor**

Welcome to Tuesday, the new uploading date. Hopefully this will work out. If not I'll go back to Fridays.

Note: This chapter made my mother upset and on the verge of tears. And yes, I have gotten her emotionally attached to the characters, especially the twins. When she wants my undivided attention she now yells, "Look! Lamborghini!" Works every time. ;)

And y'all should thank her for the chapter titles. She's responsible for about 80% of them.

Requested by Aura Black Chan. I hope this is up to your expectations and what you had in mind.

HUGE THANKYOU to Supermoi for all your reviews. I cant believe I hit 700! That just... I mean... It... oh dear... WOW!

Next chapter will be one of my ideas, then I'm going to try and tackle another request or two, depending on what I can get my muse to settle on. She's being rather flighty at the moment. There's a chance I have been overworking her and she's exhausted. I just hope she doesn't decide to jump ship. I should invest in piranha….

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Sunstreaker opened the door, before following his brother over the threshold. Mechs and a few femmes filled the establishment. All of them drinking, laughing, enjoying the freedom they now exercised with the defeat of the Decepticons. Sideswipe went to the bar, waiting for the bartender to make his way down the long isle and ordered two high grade cubes with magnesium shots. Sunstreaker picked a table against the wall that afforded a view of the door. It may be peace time but he wasn't taking any chances. Old habits were hard to break, especially when they were ingrained for so long and saved your life. Sideswipe brought the two large crystal containers filled with glowing purple energon and a tray with several small shot glasses.

"Look at them," Sunstreaker said, staring at the assorted bots who were enjoying the festivities. "They act is if nothing has happened."

Sideswipe said down and poured his brother a shot, setting up their drinks in the fashion they preferred. His optics caught the friendly smiles and laughing banter between assorted Cybertronians who all seemed to be best friends.

"Look at their frames," Sunstreaker said, his voice barely carrying over the din. He opened the bond to convey the feelings he didn't know how to put into words. "Most lack a sigil."

"Doubtful they even fought," Sideswipe added sliding a glass toward his twin.

Sunstreaker took the offered drink, transferring his gaze to the swirling liquid.

"What should be drink to?" Sideswipe asked.

"You never needed a reason to toast before," Sunstreaker smirked, feeling adoration flood the bond and make him want to slap his twin.

"I always toasted the fact that we were still alive and the war was not lost," Sideswipe admitted. "Now that the war has ended and the Cons are defeated, I don't know what to celebrate anymore."

"The end of the cons isn't a reason enough to celebrate?" Sunstreaker asked.

"With the cons gone, we're out of a job," Sideswipe said.

"Who knew that war could mean employment." Sunstreaker added, suppressing a grin.

"And Cybertron doesn't have unemployment," Sideswipe smirked at the thought of standing in an unemployment line. What job could two ex-gladiators possible find that would fulfill their emotional needs, like fighting for their friends?

"Friends," Sunstreaker said, earning a surprised feeling from his brother. He looked up into the optics he had known all his life and added, "Let's drink to Friends. I think they would have liked that."

Sideswipe gave a muted nod and as mirror images the twins downed their shots. Sideswipe pulled a face, giving the crystalline glass a dirty look.

"Not as good as what I brew, but it's okay, if not lacking on the punch," Sideswipe commented.

Sunstreaker sat his shot glass down, his expression morose. "I miss them."

Sideswipe felt the misery from his brother and leaned back against the seat, his shoulder touching Sunstreaker's.

"I miss them too," Sideswipe said softly. Suddenly the high grade didn't seem so inviting. It seemed… hollow.

Sunstreaker's digits swirled patterns on the table in an unseen mosaic. The invisible script was elegant, graceful and flowing as he spelled out the names of those lost.

"Optimus," Sunstreaker said, the hurt in his spark bouncing back and forth between himself and his twin. "Ironhide…. Ratchet…. Prowl."

Sunstreaker swirled their phantom names on the pitted surface of the table, his processor lost to memory.

"Prime says we can stay on," Sideswipe put in.

Sunstreaker's head shot, his optics icy as he glared "That bastard isn't Prime! He never will be in my optics."

A few patrons nearby quieted, listening to the conversation. They had just come out of hiding thanks to the new Prime and they would defend him if necessary.

"Prowl would have glitched, seeing how much we cared," Sideswipe added.

Sunstreaker's gaze went distant once again, his shoulders slumping, "Some victory. What is the point in being the victor when you lose so much and the ones most important are missing? They were the reason to keep going in the first place."

"Deep bro," Sideswipe said, but it lacked its usual playfulness.

"I'd even be happy to see Red Alert step through the door," Sunstreaker said, looking to the door as if it would open and their lost friends would come sauntering over the threshold.

"I have a feeling he would be as redundant as us with this new Prime' Sideswipe muttered.

"Stop calling him that," Sunstreaker threatened with a rumbling growl. The neutrals who had been listening in felt chills run along their spinal struts.

"What should I call him?" Sideswipe asked, not sure how to address the person who had been appointed by the Matrix. Apparently the ancient artifact knew something the twins didn't.

"I just call him _Asshole_," Sunstreaker said, adopting the human idiom. It was fitting in his opinion.

As soon as the new Prime came into power he started making changes. Drastic ones that upset the natural balance that had been in effect since before he was even conceived on the assembly line. Bots were considered too antiquated and replaced with mechs the new Prime had known in his limited existence, throwing the war torn veterans to the wind to land as they may. Young bots, immature sparks and stupid adolescents that were assuming leadership of a world they had no right to claim from those who fought to protect it. Those who were left behind when their comrades were slain and were still slagging good at their jobs. Now, they were considered useless and assigned to 'functions more befitting their talent and vast experience". In other words they were outdated and the new generation wanted the control, regardless of what was sacrificed to achieve it. It was another drawback to the war ending.

The twins sat in silence for long moment, staring at the empty glasses. The music droned on, nothing like the earth music that Jazz and Blaster used to entertain. **That** music was considered mundane by the new generation. And though they agreed to the alliance with the humans, most of the earthen culture was shunned, becoming beneath those who believed themselves better than the organics who fought and died beside their Cybertronian allies.

"I miss Prowl," Sideswipe said softly.

Sunstreaker gave his brother a look, not knowing the feeling flooding over the bond. It was so strange, feeling this new sensation. Whatever it was. Even the desire to drown oneself in high grade was missing from Sideswipe's side of the bond.

"You miss the brig," Sunstreaker amended.

Sideswipe let out an electronic snort, "We had our best times in there."

"And Asshole almost made us permanent residents," Sunstreaker said. "I still think you shouldn't have pulled me off."

"You already ripped off his olfactory sensor, busted an optic, and broke his jaw hinges,' Sideswipe said with a partial shrug. The fact they were discussing the casual attack on their new commanding officer didn't faze them.

"I don't want to spend a long time in the brig when there's no one to play with," Sideswipe said. "Without Red and Prowl at the monitors, it would just be us, and I doubt the new mechs know how to play our games."

Sunstreaker smirked, his spark feeling all warm and fuzzy with the memories of the past. "Yeah, it was fun, playing with those in the brig."

"Our own special game," Sideswipe smiled, feeling a pang in his spark at the loss of his two favorite playmates.

"Jazz mentioned something about returning to Earth and setting up a base," Sideswipe said, rubbing his chest over his spark chamber.

"With Jazz in charge?" Sunstreaker asked, feeling a balloon of hope well up inside of him.

"Apparently," Sideswipe shrugged. "Heard about it right after the aft chewing we got from that young kid whose now in charge of security. Jazz came in, gave a speech and explained his intent on making a base on Earth."

"Be nice to go back," Sunstreaker said, looking around at the polished, factionless frames that surrounded them. "This doesn't feel like home anymore."

"Be nice to get away," Sideswipe agreed. "Course it won't be the same without our friends."

"And our ambulatory care expert," Sunstreaker smirked, earning a hearty laugh from his twin.

"Only Ratchet could blister the paint off your aft while having his hand buried in your tailpipe." Sideswipe snickered.

"Then beat you over the helm for pulling a stunt in the first place," Sunstreaker amended. The two shared a look that turned into peals of laughter, their drinks long forgotten. Now the liquid camouflage seemed hollow, an empty gesture and not good enough for their friends and the wonderful memories of a lifetime.

"Remember when we first met the old Hatchet?" Sideswipe asked, his gaze distant with fond memory.

"Yeah, and the subsequent beating we both received as he yelled at us when we came in all busted up," Sunstreaker said through his laughter.

"Yeah," Sideswipe smiled. "And then the time I glued his hands to his aft."

"And his tools to the benches," Sunstreaker grinned.

"Then I glued Ratchet's hands to _Wheeljack_'s aft," Sideswipe snickered, the memory as fresh as ever in his processor.

"I remember that one," Sunstreaker chuckled. "Prime yelled at Ratchet for days after that."

"And Ratchet yelled right back at him," Sideswipe recalled.

"And that one time when Ratchet said 'nothing surprises him' and you just go up and kiss him," Sunstreaker said.

"Oh yeah,' Sideswipe said, broad grin forming. "He crashed, woke up, then welded my aft to the medical berth and made me listen to an entire recitation of medical facts."

"Did you listen?" Sunstreaker asked, doubting the unwanted education.

"That was the best beating I ever took,' Sideswipe said fondly.

"What about the time you hot glued fake human body parts to yourself and scared the oil out of the visiting human dignitaries?" Sunstreaker said.

"Oh, yeah," Sideswipe grinned at the nostalgic lane his brother was conjuring. "Got some offers from the human females though."

"Only because you were _vibrating_," Sunstreaker said with a serious tone before he started to laugh.

"Remember when we got Prime drunk?" Sideswipe asked

"_We_?" Sunstreaker sputtered.

"Okay, I spiked his drinks and got him hammered off his aft plates," Sideswipe said, waving a hand dismissively. Had someone been paying attention to their conversation they would have believed the twins had a large extensive family instead of reliving the mental anguish they caused to their commanding officers. But rank didn't seem to play into the twins way of thinking. They didn't view Optimus Prime as someone to be worshipped and catered too. He was a friend, and they would have followed him to the Pit and beyond, without question. They were loyal not only to his cause, but to the mech himself. There could never be another Optimus Prime.

The electronic beeps and tones of music filled the atmosphere. Bots mingled, talking, laughing, oblivious to the two mechs sitting the corner, staring at their fuel. Some mechs started to dance, others yelling for the barkeep to set up another round. It was the only fueling bar open on the new Cybertron, and it was becoming an established place to enjoy yourself with friends.

The door opened, admitting a large, but timid mech. His build was unlike anything ever seen on Cybertron. Those nearest the door halted their conversation first, which lead to their neighbors pausing to find out the cause and like a blanket falling over the revelers, silence filled the bar. The two mechs who were supplying the musical accompaniment stilled their actions, following the patrons gazes to the door. The lack of noise drew the twins' immediate attention and when they looked up, they felt a familiar pang toward the newcomer. Sideswipe opened his mouth to hail the bot when the bar owner spoke up.

"Get out," the tall, thin red and green striped mech snapped. His optics was golden and stared with malice toward the timid mech.

With a hurt expression, Swoop's shoulders drooped and he turned, ready to exit. His exodus was halted however when Sideswipe's voice rang out.

"Come join us," Sideswipe called over the silent crowd.

Swoop turned, his optics glinting with happiness as he started toward the twins table. A large, burly mech stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Swoop's wide, innocent optics looked at the mech with curiosity.

"Get out," the burly mech repeated the owner's command.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker launched from their seats faster than a jet and were standing behind the burly mech who dared bar their comrade from joining them.

"Problem?" Sideswipe asked, his voice strong, the timbre deep and resonating.

The mech obviously didn't realize who was behind him. He stared with loathsome optics to the pterodactyl mimic, who remained motionless.

"His kind isn't welcome," the burly mech said, thinking he was being backed up.

"And why is that?" Sunstreaker asked, his own tone just as deep and threatening as his brother's.

The burly mech gave a start, whirling around to stare at the two standing so close behind him. His proximity sensors told him that a **single** spark was near. It was terrifying to realize it originated between **two** bodies.

"Whhhaa?" the burly mech asked, taking a step away from the twins.

"Why is Swoop not welcome here?" Sideswipe asked, nodding to the Dinobot who perked upon seeing familiar faces.

"Terrain built scrap is not welcome in my establishment,' the owner barked, coming forward. He glared at Swoop before transferring his gaze to the two who apparently didn't know the unspoken law.

Sunstreaker looked the mech up and down, his lip curling in distaste for the mech's paint job.

"This 'Terrain built scrap', as you put it, has fought in the war since his creation,' Sideswipe said, his fists forming at his sides. There was no sigil upon the owner's armor, showing his lack of factional allegiance. "What have you done in your creation other than hide?"

The owner opened his mouth to speak but his sensors just alerted him to the single spark pulse where two mechs stood in defiance. It wasn't possible. There should be a dual pulse against his sensors. There was no way that two mechs could register as one life force.

Another mech came forward, covering for the proprietor as he scanned his systems for glitches.

"Earthen built scrap isn't welcomed here," he snapped, lumbering toward Swoop who recoiled from the posturing mech.

"That _scrap_ is worth more than all of you smelted together," Sideswipe sneered, feeling a dark thrum through his spark that let him know his twin was preparing for the coming confrontation.

"Is that so?" the mech leered, looking down at the shorter mechs he knew he would have no problem in subduing. If they didn't know their place, he would be more than happy to give them a lesson.

"Swoop?" Sunstreaker said, his timbre resonating so deep that the Dinobot shuddered, optics blinking like a frightened animal. "Go."

"Me, Swoop, don't want trouble," the Dinobot spoke for the first time, looking around at the angry patrons surrounding him.

"You are not welcome," the owner said, jerking his helm toward the door. "Leave and we won't throttle you."

"Wait for us outside, Swoop," Sunstreaker added, his body tensing for a good tussle he hadn't enjoyed in a long time. There was a chance he could lose himself in the mayhem. And it was a long time coming.

"We'll be along shortly,' Sideswipe added, optics darkening as he glared at the mechs who dared to challenge the worth of the frightened Dinobot.

Swoop ducked his head and took his leave. There was an assortment of booms, clanks, and rent metal being split, but the Dinobot learned long ago to allow the twins their exercise and not interrupt them. It was sometime later when they both appeared, looking a little worse for wear but still functioning. They linked arms with Swoop and escorted him back to the base, where they were greeted by security who hauled the twins to the new warrant officer.

"Multiple reports on vandalism, personal assault, physical damage to person and property," Jazz recited from a datapad as it was scrolling in from the emergency mechs responding to the call. "Smashing every chair, table, and even the bar itself, which lead to the igniting of high grade that burned the place down!"

"What can I say, we do it in style," Sideswipe grinned.

Jazz's visor flashed with anger as he slammed down the datapad on his desk. He glared at the small tablet before looking up. "Explain yourselves."

"We were sending off some old friends,' Sunstreaker provided, earning Jazz's startled look. The twins noticed the framed photograph on Jazz's desk of the ARK mechs right after they woke up on Earth. Their optics lingered on the bots that were lost. "We were saying good bye to our friends and when Swoop came in, the other bots, _bots who never even fought in the war_, told him to leave."

"They said that Terrain based forms were not welcome in their establishment,' Sideswipe added, his anger starting to make his plating itch for another go around with the hapless bar.

"We fought for equality," Sunstreaker snarled. "Ironhide, Ratchet, Prowl, Prime… they terminated to eliminate the elite upper classes and ensure that everyone was treated as equals."

"Prime always said that everyone was created equal," Sideswipe added, "That everyone has the chance to reach their full potential."

"And to have _neutrals_, to say that Swoop, a Dinobot who fought and **protected** their very rights, isn't welcome in their establishment because he wasn't constructed on Cybertron?" Sunstreaker asked.

"It's disgusting,' Sideswipe said, his optics boring into the visor of the only friend the twins felt they had left. "It's disgraceful. It goes against everything that we fought for."

"Prime would have been ashamed of his people for acting like that," Sunstreaker said.

"Indeed I am," came a rumbling tenor from the door.

The three mechs jumped, the twins whirling around to see Rodimus Prime standing in the doorway.

"Sir," Jazz said, his back stiffing in a perfect imitation of Prowl. "What do I owe this pleasure?"

"I heard there was a fight that lead to the first bar being burned to the ground." Rodimus Prime said, looking between the two guilty mechs that were still covered in soot.

"That would be us," Sideswipe said without hesitation. Sunstreaker scowled, his fists forming. "We were defending a comrade who was slandered and abused by neutrals who didn't seem to understand that the bot they were attacking was a friend of ours."

"I see," came the answer, laced with skepticism. "And there was no other alternative than to beat the bolts out of several former neutrals and burn down the only functioning bar on Cybertron?"

"Other bars can open," Sideswipe said in nonchalance.

"No one attacks our friends without being punished,' Sunstreaker put in, his optics narrowing.

"And yet you still attacked those who did no 'physical' harm to you or to your fiend and saw fit to send them all to the medics for severe injuries?"

"We protect our own," Sideswipe said, shifting slightly to block Sunstreaker incase he decided to whoop the new Prime again.

"Then perhaps some time in the brig would cool your processors?" Rodimus said, looking between the two.

He really didn't want to get into another tussle with them. He already suffered damage and he wasn't sure how they even inflicted it until he woke up under the medic's care. They were good. And it was more than disconcerting.

"It would be like going home," Sideswipe said with a murderous grin.

"Perhaps the brig isn't the answer," Rodimus said, as if trying to figure out a complicated puzzle. "And all I need to do is send one of you off world and then you will learn a lesson."

"You wouldn't dare," Sunstreaker growled his frame vibrating with his words. Sideswipe shivered from the proximity.

"You forget, I'm Prime," Rodimus said, looking between the two troublemakers. He didn't know how Optimus had believed them to be trustworthy and counted them as his allies.

"Not to me, you aren't,' Sunstreaker said, his customary sneer flaring to life with genuine contempt. "There will only be **one** Prime in my optics and you are a poor substitute."

Before Rodimus could retort, Jazz spoke up. "Sir, if I may? The twins can't be separated for any long period of time without both suffering from severe spark trauma." Jazz explained.

"And this hasn't been considered a disciplinary tool?" Rodimus asked, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"The slavers who sold us and made us fight in the Pits at Kaon used to do the same thing," Sunstreaker supplied, noting the look of surprised fear on Rodimus's face. To the new Prime, the Pits were just a recharge story told to younglings. "Why would such behavior not shock me? You may introduce that form of corporal punishment, as it is your right being the _Commanding Officer _of this base and the ill-fated leader of the Cybertronian race, but know this," Sunstreaker said, taking a step around Sideswipe and standing in front of Rodimus. "It was such actions that lead to a revolt by the slaves and caused all this strife in the first place. So go on, make your decision and I'll try not to be surprised when you start enacting the same flawed laws that landed us in a civil war to begin with."

"I request the twins accompany me and my unit back to Earth," Jazz said, breaking the tension that followed Sunstreaker's little speech. "We work well together and they are familiar with Earth and its cultures. It wouldn't be as much of a culture shock for them."

Rodimus looked past the boiling sun that stood before him and gave Jazz a barely perceived nod. "Very well. Collect your supplies and make your plans. You leave as soon as you are able."

Jazz offered a curt nod in response. Rodimus took his leave, not seeing the dual hateful stares sent toward his back strut.

"I have to get you two out of here before you end up terminated," Jazz said, motioning to the door. "Pack your things. You're going home."

"Good," Sunstreaker said, going to the open door and turning to regard Jazz. His optics drifted to the framed photograph before returning to Jazz's visor. "There's nothing here for us anymore."

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This is the ONLY aspect I will refer to the G1 movie. I ignore it all other times for obvious reasons.

I don't see the twins reacting well to someone who I believe is younger than they are. They hide their maturity by their pranks and attitude, but if push comes to shove, they are anything but immature.

HUGE THANK YOU TO ALL REVIEWERS! And WELCOME to all of those who favorited or now follow the story and/or me. Its great to find all the alerts. I appreciate it so much!

Feel free to tell me your favorite part. I like to hear from folks!


	57. This Side of Sanity

**This Side of Sanity**

**HUGE THANK YOU TO ALL REVIEWERS! **

**Sorry if this sucker doesnt set right. For some reason my formatting has been all over the map with this chapter. I've tried to fix it, so if something looks 'off' or the font changes, I apologize. But I'm not beating my head against the screen to constantly get this thing to cooperate.**

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Smokescreen flared his doorwings in agitation. It was times like these he hated having a brother who pulled military rank. Smokescreen huffed, punching the button for the lower level detention center and fuming at the audacity of his brother. Prowl knew he was no longer a practicing psychologist. He had given up that title when he joined the Autobots, using his own tactical skill along the battlefront while his brother manipulated the troops from behind the lines.

They both enjoyed the engaging battle of wills and outplaying each other in tactical games. When the war broke out, Prowl immediately offered his services. Smokescreen had tried to keep his practice going but with most of the city falling to ruin, he had begrudgingly signed up. It irked him that his younger brother now held rank over him. Prowl swore he never used his rank for influence, but Smokescreen snorted in disgust, knowing his brother had purposefully kept him busy evaluating the new recruits.

Which was where he was heading in such an unprofessional, and irritable mood. He had been ordered to evaluate two new recruits, and upon their first five missed appointments, he learned they both were incarcerated in the brig. Perfect. Now they had no choice but to talk to him and let him give them a good mental interrogation and report his findings to his brother. Then maybe he could return to the job he was recruited to do, and plan diversionary tactics for safe Autobot retreats along the Decepticon strongholds. It was a job he was well adept at, but had little practice due to his brother running military interference. Needless to say, it was very annoying.

The doors of the transport lift opened, revealing the quiet hall. A small drone beeped in greeting when Smokescreen stepped out. It rolled forth, its systems on automatic when sensing a ranking officer.

"State identity and reason for visit," it said in a flat tone.

"Smokescreen," he said, wondering why the cell block was so quiet. Usually the cells were full of prisoners, all yelling, shouting, causing a ruckus. It was strange that this particular block was so silent. "Mental evaluation for a Sideswipe and Sunstreaker."

"Identity recognized and granted," the drone said, turning aside and motioning down the hall. "Prisoners are at the end of the hall."

Smokescreen nodded and took a step toward his victims. He paused, turning to the drone. "Why is it so quiet down here? Surely there are other prisoners?"

"Prisoners were removed when recruits, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, instigated a riot and taught the other prisoners to sing vulgar, slanderous songs concerning our Prime." The drone gave a beep, its parameters were limited on to giving out too much information. "Due to the severity of their transgressions, they were removed from general population and ordered a psychological evaluation."

"Right," Smokescreen sighed, heading toward his doom. He could feel his spark thudding with each step. Surely these two new recruits couldn't be as bad as his brother had insinuated? Yes, the drone had been a little more forthcoming with the information on WHY the two were incarcerated, but it seemed a rather extreme measure to something as trivial as a couple of boisterous bots blowing off steam. The stockade seemed a harsh reprimand for two mechs poking fun at Prime. Smokescreen had met the Prime once. He had an affable humor, though Smokescreen was certain that Prowl did not possess such an attribute.

Row after row of quiet, dark cells greeted the Praxian as he ventured to the end of the hall. The cells were set up adjacent to one another, allowing the other cell occupants privacy and not being spied on from across the hall. The last cell on the block cast a warm glow over a seat that pointed at the occupied cell, waiting for the Praxian visitor. Wasting no time, Smokescreen walked to the chair, turned, and surveyed his two new 'patients'.

One was ruby red and was seated on the floor, giving his cell mate a look that was hidden from the vantage point outside the cell. The other mech was a golden hue, highly polished, and sat on the edge of one of the berths, his venting coming in steady, even breaths.

"Well, look who we have here," the red one said, eyeing the blue and red Praxian like a predator sizing up helpless prey. "A visitor, Sunny."

There was a deep resonating growl from the other mech, who glared at the mech on the other side of the bars. His lip stayed curled in distaste as he asked, "What do you want?"

"My name is Smokescreen," he said, noting the two had identical builds. They were not too lean and not too bulky. Perfect models for fighting. They were probably from the same production line, if not the same numerical unit. "I have come for a little talk with the two of you."

"You look like the winged Pit Spawn who put us in here," Sunstreaker said, rising from his seat and walking toward the bars.

Smokescreen had to fight down the urge to back up. There was no way the mech could get through the bars, but the look on his face, and the thrum of danger that emanated from his very being, it was very disconcerting. The Praxian wanted as much distance as possible between the glowering mech.

"Prowl is my brother," he answered, resisting the urge to run from the glowering mech. Instead, he took a deep intake and seated himself in the available chair, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. He just hoped the duo couldn't detect the loud banging of his spark. He could hear it hammering in his audios. Primus, the golden mech scared the oil out of him.

The golden mech sneered, and the action sent a chill down Smokescreen's spinal strut. "My condolences."

"Sunny,' Sideswipe said, earning himself a backhand that sent him staggering. He rubbed his jaw, glaring at his twin, who had remained motionless except for his striking arm, as he stared down the newcomer. "Fragger."

"What do you want?" Sunstreaker demanded again, ignoring his brother's words and emotions flooding their bond.

"Just to talk," Smokescreen said. He had jerked upright in his seat when Sunstreaker struck the Sideswipe, expecting an all out war in the cell. But both mech surprised him. They brushed off the harsh reprimand and returned to their pointed stares. Sunstreaker glaring in open hostility, Sideswipe with curiosity.

"I don't_** talk**_," Sunstreaker said, his head canting slightly to the side as if detecting something. Smokescreen shifted uncomfortably in his seat but didn't speak. Sunstreaker offered a knowing smirk and turned, heading back to the berth and planting himself on it, ignoring the Praxian completely as he stretched along its surface.

"Sunny doesn't like company," Sideswipe said, hearing the warning growl coming from his brother again. "It's best if you just leave."

"I can't do that," Smokescreen said, finding it easier to talk to the ruby colored mech. "I was ordered to evaluate your mental and emotional capacity."

"Oh?" Sideswipe asked, his brow ridge arching in happy surprise. "And why would anyone care what goes on in our processors? Or our sparks? Well, our half sparks."

"Half?" Smokescreen asked, staring blankly at the mech who slouched back against the wall next to the bars. He was clearly keeping a healthy distance from the other mech. Smokescreen made a note to have the two separated.

"We're split spark twins," Sideswipe said, enjoying the look of shocked incredulity on the Praxian's face. Those types of reactions always tickled him. There was just something funny about someone learning you're only half a spark. Sideswipe didn't think he'd ever get tired of it.

"Split… split spark?" Smokescreen asked, leaning forward in his seat and looking from one to the other. "Split _twins_?"

"Fool," Sunstreaker muttered from where he was reposing on the berth.

"So, did you come to scramble our processors or to drain our databanks dry?" Sideswipe asked in polite sweetness, his charming smile making him seem boyish.

"No, nothing like that," Smokescreen amended, noting the cheeky look the red twin wore. Primus. Twins! It didn't seem possible. He had read about spark split twins in medical journals but never had the chance to meet a pair. Most were deemed unstable. And when one was condemned to termination for a crime, the other went silently in their wake. There was a bond between them that scientists had tried to unravel since the first split spark. The occurrence was so rare, many vorns passed between sparking pairs. It was amazing to meet such unique individuals.

"I just want to talk," Smokescreen added, relaxing in the chair and allowing his doorwings to droop. "We can talk about anything. I don't mind the topic."

"Oh, you want to learn about interfacing," Sideswipe said in all seriousness.

Smokescreen let out a startled beep, his doorwings hitching painfully on his back as he sputtered. Sideswipe's crowing laughter filled the hall.

"The look on your face plates!" Sideswipe yelled, looking over his shoulder and added, 'Sunny, look at his face."

"No thanks," Sunstreaker said, finding Sideswipe's mirth to be annoying.

Sideswipe snickered, sending a mental image to his twin that caused Sunstreaker's lip plates to curl in a slight smile before his scowl reattached itself.

"That is **not** what I'm here to discuss," Smokescreen said, regaining his composure. A doorwing flicked.

"Well, then you should have been more specific," Sideswipe said, that charming smile plating itself on his handsome face. "I can't read your processor."

Smokescreen regained his senses and adopted a more professional approach. Perhaps if the mech didn't associate him with a friendly nonchalant manner, he would be more apt to speaking about his feelings. Sometimes it was harder to speak to a polite listener instead of a professional who had your best interest at spark.

"Perhaps you can tell me about the incident that earned you a stint in the brig?" Smokescreen prompted, hoping to steer the conversation in the correct direction.

"It was a great prank," Sideswipe said through his laughter. His optics were brighter as he looked to his audience, "It was just a shame I caught the wrong mech in the trap."

"You are referring to the incident where the Prime's personal bodyguard was magnetized to a bulkhead?" Smokescreen asked.

"Yeah! It was great!" Sideswipe snickered, his devilish optics darting over to Sunstreaker who was fighting the urge to laugh with his twin. Sunstreaker had found the incident hilarious as well. "Even Sunshine enjoyed seeing the rusty old mech faceplanted into the bulkhead before the other mechs started flying into him as well."

Sunstreaker's head turned in slow motion at the mention of the nickname. His optics were as dark thunderclouds as he glared at his twin. His lip twitched in a twisted sneer. Smokescreen felt something inside his chassis go cold.

"And you don't feel regret for your actions?" Smokescreen asked, gauging the other mech's attitude.

"Pit no," Sideswipe laughed, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. "I only regret not getting more before being caught!"

"And the nail gun incident?" Smokescreen prompted, feeling his tanks churn when Sunstreaker allowed a dark rumble of laughter to escape, his optics focused on his brother. The sound was like the Pit maker chuckling in evil amusement.

"Well, I didn't mean to shoot the medic in the aft," Sideswipe said, and there was genuine sincerity in his voice. His face split into a handsome grin before he added, "That was just a bonus!"

Smokescreen sat in wonder, listening to Sideswipe recollect some of his more memorable pranks, almost all of them ending with someone needing medical attention. Sunstreaker offered a grunt of amusement a couple of times, but kept his vocalizer off. When Sideswipe would use a dreaded nickname, Sunstreaker would tense, a growl vibrating his frame as he stared at his twin.

Smokescreen would advert his gaze when Sunstreaker was staring at him, feeling as if his fuel pump stalled and filled his lines with iced slurry.

There was something about that golden mech. He carried the air of one able to terminate with just a look. Smokescreen was sure his spark stopped twice when he caught the intense stare from thunderous optics. The mech was like death forged in physical form. When he moved, you expected your life to be held in his grasp, a knowing smirk on his face as you faded.

Time passed in slow fast forward. Smokescreen watched Sideswipe's animated explanations as he relived his legacy of jokes, Sunstreaker's tense frame as he watched his observer. Twice he got the feeling that Sunstreaker was calculating the best way to take him apart. There was just something about the way his optics narrowed and his hands twitched.

As Sideswipe prattled on, enjoying the chance to brag about his deeds, Smokescreen took in the twins' physical forms as well as their personal interaction. Though most of their bodies sported the usual armaments constructed for war, a few of the pieces were missing, revealing their protoforms beneath.

Pewter weld marks crisscrossed their bodies, most of the repair done long ago. There were a few new marks; Ratchet's perfect suturing lines visible upon the macabre conglomeration from previous patches. Smokescreen hazard a guess as to what the twins basic protoforms sported, and knew it wasn't a sight for faint sparks. It was apparent they had suffered. Though who had inflicted such wounds and why was still in mystery.

Sideswipe was engaged in the retelling of one of his infamous pranks, something involving wire and an unsuspecting mech on the street, when Sunstreaker rose from the berth. Smokescreen's attention was pulled from Sideswipe's animated reenactment of the mechs hilarious, and purely accidental, beheading, when he spotted the golden warrior moving. A fluid grace emanated from the golden frame as he gained his brother's side, placing his hand on his twin's shoulder.

"Enough," Sunstreaker's rough voice commanded.

Sideswipe fell silent, knowing he had said too much. He couldn't help it. Sometimes, his vocalizer got the better of him.

Sunstreaker turned those foreboding, storm laced optics to Smokescreen, his expression as stone. "Your visitation is at an end. Leave… now."

Smokescreen opened his mouth to remind the golden twin why he was there, but something about the hardness of his gaze stole his resolve. His spark faltered in that annoying way that he was sure the predatory mech could hear. With his internals becoming a tundra, Smokescreen rose on unsteady pedes, noting how Sunstreaker's optics took in his every move. Smokescreen wondered if Sunstreaker was capable of emotion other than the dark scowl that always radiated hatred.

Sideswipe remained quiet, Sunstreaker's hand still on his shoulder. Sunstreaker's optics glittered, his processor awhirl with images on how best to take down a Praxian frame. He caught the Praxian's optics, and felt himself smirk as he noted the fear that radiated from his pale blue optics. His small gesture of knowledge earned a slight tremor through the other mech's frame and Sunstreaker felt grim satisfaction, knowing his stare was causing the reaction.

"He's right," Smokescreen said, his vocalizer fritzing for a second as he choked on his words, noting how Sunstreaker's fathomless gaze seemed to draw him in and drown him in frozen death. "I've taken enough of your time. I shall depart so you may charge."

Sideswipe pouted, rising to his pedes and waving a depressing good bye. "Stop by anytime. We'll be here awhile."

Sunstreaker's hand dropped to his side as he watched Smokescreen nod before leaving. When the mech was out of sight, Sunstreaker turned his gaze toward his twin, Sideswipe offering a shrug and heading to his own berth. He didn't have an explanation. He just liked to talk and it was nice to have a captive audience. Sunstreaker waited several minutes before retaking his own berth, recharge finding him with ease.

Smokescreen made his way to the main command center, his processor working in a haze. He sent out a comm. to his brother to alert him that he had made a preliminary diagnosis and Prowl responded immediately, telling Smokescreen to come to the main briefing room. Smokescreen acknowledged, his steps heavy. His processor was still haunted with the chilling look that Sunstreaker wore and his internals were slow to thaw from the encounter.

Smokescreen heard the summons to enter the indicated room and when he stepped inside he felt his body retaliate all over again. He had expected his brother to be alone in the briefing room, but Prime was present as well. Smokescreen had only ever met the Prime once, and that was briefly when he was first assigned to this unit.

"Prime," Smokescreen said, giving the customary bow of respect.

Prime nodded his head in acknowledgement, finding the oldest Praxian brother to be just as stiff and formal as his younger brother. Must be a family trait.

"Report," Prowl said, looking up from his datapad. Smokescreen should have known his brother would get straight down to business.

"As per requested I have had a consultation with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker," Smokescreen stated, his attention drifting between the two high ranking mechs.

"What is your initial diagnosis?" Prowl asked, his fingers poised over the datapad.

"You are aware they are spark split twins?" Smokescreen asked, wanting to get to the basis for his diagnosis.

"Yes, we are aware," Prowl stated as if the fact wasn't something to be awed and discussed.

"Like all other documented twins, they are violent, even toward each other and show a detachment to the world around them," Smokescreen stated, trying not to twitch in front of the Prime. "They lack empathy and clear disregard to others especially if the situation involves another being harmed or terminated in the execution of a joke."

Prowl typed and gave a nod for his brother to continue.

"Both are highly intelligent with a quick wit but very little use for rules and regulations," Smokescreen said, a doorwing fluttering to ease his nerves. "Sideswipe overcompensates his shortcomings by being playful and amicable, but he lacks the ability to connect to others on any serious level. During my visit I noticed that both bore scars upon their protoforms and their lack of morality may be attributed to the fact of past brutality. His joking behavior is a way to overcome the damage sustained to his spark and body."

"His jocularity is an attempt to… what?" Prowl asked, not quite getting what his brother was saying.

"It's his way of connecting," Smokescreen answered. "He feels attached to those he can make laugh and who think he is funny. His idea of fitting in is to make everything a joke."

Prowl made a low hum, his optics focused on his datapad as he started to type a slow, erratic rhythm, trying to find the best description to fit the ruby twin.

"And Sunstreaker?" Prime prompted, earning a startled look from Smokescreen.

"Sunstreaker enjoys seeing others in pain or fearful, especially of him," Smokescreen said, remembering his own encounter. Primus, he never wanted to meet that mech without energy bars between them. He feared what Sunstreaker would do. "Like Sideswipe, he too lacks a moral compass and delights in seeing others come to harm. There is an underlying cruelty to his personality circuit. Basically, Prime," Smokescreen said, focusing on the one mech who held sway over every soul in the army. "Sunstreaker is a time bomb. Even his systems are ticking in warning and I pity the soul that is caught in his wake when he finally loses control."

"He's that dangerous?" Prime asked in a skeptical tone. Surely one new recruit couldn't be as fearsome as facing off against Megatron.

"Might I remind you Prime,' Smokescreen said in reverence, "That all twins in documented history has displayed the same type of negative emotional instability. Whether it's because of their spark splitting and having to reside in two bodies, or the initial procedure damages something inside, I don't know. In any case, **all** of the twins had the same thing in common. They are volatile and eventually have to be terminated due to their sociopathic tendencies."

Smokescreen waited a few seconds for the information to sink in and added, his tone a lot softer with the delicacy needed for the topic. "It would be best to end their existence and not let them suffer any longer. Eventually they will lose themselves to violence, becoming so unstable there will be no other alternative."

"No," Prime said simply.

"With their lack of empathy and Sunstreaker's dominating personality, it would be wise to prevent future victims by eliminating the threat now," Smokescreen tried again, hoping to ingrain the sense of urgency toward the twins. "They are extremely dangerous. And with past medical proof against them, I am sorry to report that they too will self destruct, possibly taking innocent lives with them."

"You're professional opinion has been noted and appreciated," Prime said, nodding toward the door in dismissal. "Thank you for your time."

Smokescreen looked to his brother, who was giving Prime a shocked expression, though neither voiced their disagreement with the Prime. Smokescreen gave a nod of acceptance and rose, a door wing fluttering in a jerky pattern as his processor tried to formulate the best possible way of presenting the twins' case. Prime didn't seem to grasp the level of instability and cruelty the duo were capable, and Smokescreen had every intention of making their leader aware of all the options.

"Prime," Smokescreen said, bowing in reverence before taking his leave.

Prime rose from his chair and went to one of the many wide, sweeping windows that decorated the conference room. His gaze lingered on the soldiers in the square, all polished and poised and barking answers to their superiors. Most looked barely into their adult frames, yet they held themselves with a veterans grace.

"What are your orders concerning Sideswipe and Sunstreaker?" Prowl prompted, hoping that his leader would see reason and demand they be sent to a detention center for terminal cases.

"They are to serve their time and then will report to me," Prime said, his gaze lingering on his weapons specialist who sent a mech to his knees, weeping. Ironhide did have a way with the truth and its delivery.

"You do not think they pose a threat?" Prowl asked, his usual façade of indifference pushed aside as he allowed his concern to show.

"I think they deserve a chance," Prime said, turning and noting the emotion on his trusted advisors face. It was rare such things graced his features.

"Statistics show that they will cause more damage than the enemy," Prowl pressed, hoping to make his leader understand the danger of letting the two menaces into the ranks. "All twins before them have been unstable and needed to be terminated. You heard my brother's diagnosis. The probability that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker will follow the same destructive path is ninety-eight point seven percent."

"The odds are against them, that is for certain," Prime said, turning away and looking out the window to the courtyard beyond. "But I have to give them the benefit of the doubt."

"They hold no such debt," Prowl said, wondering if Prime realized the vulgarity of the songs the twins had taught to their cell block for before cast into solitude. "They should be removed from our ranks and remanded to the correctional facility for termination."

Prime turned from the courtyard and gave his officer a stern look. "No. I will not allow innocents to come to harm due to the past transgression of others."

"Innocents?" Prowl barked in shock, his frame rigid, his doorwings arched high. "Prime, you are aware.."

Prowl's words were interrupted when Prime raised a hand. As soon as he made the gesture, Prowl fell silent, respectfully listening to his leader.

"Everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves and show that they have worth," Prime said, knowing that Prowl was probably going to be blowing a circuit. In fact, there was a chance his weapons master and medic were going to be needing medical attention as well. "You may not agree and have already condemned them to their fate, but I will allow them to continue their service. They will be welcomed back among the ranks and not condemned for crimes never committed."

"As you command," Prowl said, his stern countenance back into place. He knew arguing with Prime would only earn him a stint in the brig. And he had no intention of incurring Prime's ire.

"Alert me when their sentence is up," Prime said, giving his officer a steely gaze, softened by the gentleness of his optics. "And bring them to me. I wish to meet them."

"They have been saying some _unfavorable_ things about you," Prowl said, not elaborating for obvious reasons. Prowl didn't understand the designations and titles used in their vocalizations, and had to reference them. Needless to say, it had been a long time since he felt his face plates heat to that level.

"Allow me to deal with the issues," Prime said, returning his gaze to the courtyard, and the soldiers that littered the square. "Perhaps after all everyone has told them, they just need someone to listen to _**them**_ for a change."

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**Next chapter will be a request! Whoot! **


	58. A Lesson In the Sun

**A Lesson In the Sun**

Requested from Elita 2. Hope you like it!

Apparently last chapter was disappointing. I hope this one is better. If not, then I'm seriously thinking about going on hiatus for awhile.

GO TO, just replace the DOT with "."

autosDOTyahooDOTcom/blogs/motoramic/enjoying-pain-lamborghini-gallardo-spyder-motoramic-tv-224651199. html

**And tell me that Sideswipe SHOULD have looked like THAT in the movies! *drools***

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"This isn't funny," Sideswipe yelled.

"It's fragging hilarious,' Sunstreaker countered, arms folded in relaxed surrender.

"No, its degrading and childish and.." Sideswipe continued before his frame vibrated with such an intensity, his jaws clattered together. His equilibrium circuits were knocked haywire from the sonic pitch.

"This is a great opportunity for you to sit and think about what you've done,' Sunstreaker said in a perfect imitation of a creator's chastising voice. "Or in this case, hang there."

"Umm, Sunstreaker?" Wheeljack asked in an uncertain tone. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Positive," Sunstreaker said without hesitation. "My idiot brother needs a lesson and Grimlock needs an education as well."

"I don't think this is what Prowl had in mind when he assigned you to teaching the Dinobots etiquette." Wheeljack watched in confusion as the Dinobots paraded around their paddock.

"I told Prowl it's a phase," Sunstreaker said waving a servo in indifference. "All younglings go through it. Its just time the Dinobots started to go through that learning curve."

"I think the lesson is just a bit… extreme," Wheeljack said, watching as Sideswipe tried to flail but only managed a weak swat at the wide snout above him.

"Pain is a good teacher," Sunstreaker said. "Even the densest of processor can and will learn a lesson if enough pain and humiliation is inflicted."

Wheeljack remained quiet, knowing that Sunstreaker was probably speaking from a personal point of view. Any further conversation was cut short as Prowl chose that moment to appear. His doorwings flared into a hard letter of pain as he took in the sight. His optics zeroed in on the golden frame of the assigned teacher. With silent fury he stormed up to Sunstreaker, lip components pressed into a thin line.

"Sunstreaker? **What** is going on?" Prowl demanded.

"I'm conducting my class, like you ordered," Sunstreaker said without breaking optic contact of his 'students'.

"This is a mockery of the assignment I entrusted to you," Prowl spat, doorwings lowering like an angered dragonfly. "Cease and desist this lesson immediately."

"Not until the class is over," Sunstreaker said, gracing the SIC with half a glance.

"This is a gross misrepresentation of my orders!" Prowl fumed.

"I see it as killing two Deceptions with one blast." Sunstreaker said, focusing on Prowl with a causal look. It was a vast difference than his usual surly nature.

"You are distorting the orders,' Prowl amended.

"You said that Sideswipe needed to be punished for gluing Gears' servos to his aft,' Sunstreaker said, turning his attention to his still cursing brother. "So I enlisted his help in the other assignment of teaching the Dinobots proper etiquette and to break them of the habit of biting."

Prowl looked to the assembled bots and noted that all of them, Grimlock included, sported several dental impressions on their bodies. Prowl's face faltered, trying to understand exactly what he was seeing.

"When the Dinobots bite anyone, the other four, bite _him_,' Sunstreaker explained. "They're learning." He gestured toward Grimlock who was growling at Sludge. "Snarl has been particularly hard to break of the habit, but after Grimlock bit his tail, he's learning to keep his denta off others."

Prowl looked to the mentioned bot's tail and sure enough, there was a generous impression. There were also punctures, several rent plates, and wires poking out.

"Snarl's tail is damaged," Prowl commented.

"Grimlock doesn't know his own strength so that's been added to his _lessons_," Sunstreaker said in nonchalance.

Prowl felt a burning along his neural circuits. Primus, he was headed for a crash. Figures! Knowing he'd regret it, he motioned to the giant T-Rex and asked, "And Sideswipe?"

"Needed a lesson in humiliation ," Sunstreaker said, waving to the whimpering Lamborghini held in Grimlock's powerful jaws. "And Grimlock is learning how much pressure is needed to incapacitate a mech so he doesn't seriously harm any of his fellow Dinobots."

"It's been working,' Wheeljack asked, pointing to Grimlock as he wandered around, Sideswipe clamped in his jaws. The T-Rex looked like he was displaying his prize like a proud cat with a difficult kill. Sideswipe for his part was hanging in limp surrender, throwing curses toward his twin as he smacked at the snout holding him so securely.

"Dinobots learn not to bite mechs, Grimlock learns to not bite off a comrade's body part," Sunstreaker recited, watching the dinosaur mimics play around in their makeshift paddock. "And Sideswipe literally gets his ass chewed so he won't pull such a stunt again."

There was a soft whining whimper of overtaxed systems before a heavy thud as Prowl locked up. Sunstreaker ignored the twitching black and white heap as he watched his ingenious plan put in motion. Wheeljack commed Ratchet, then earned an audio full of words that had Prime shouting over the open comm. about language and influencing young processors and all the while, Sunstreaker observed the six immature younglings at their lessons.

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**I know... short chapter. They dont happen very often. :D**

**Next chapter will be another request. And depending on the support, I'll decide if and when to continue. **

**THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT! YOU ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!**


	59. Two Sides of the Coin

**Two Sides of the Coin**

Kinda morphed from a mention by **Stargazer at Moonlight**, so I blame you. :P

AN: Next week is Christmas so you readers get a chapter for Christmas Eve AND Christmas. How's that for holiday love?

**THANK YOU TO ALL REVIEWERS! If this chapter is as favorable as the last, then I will continue in the next year. **

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"Are you sure you want to do this?" Prime asked, looking between the two faces.

"There isn't another option," Sunstreaker said, settling onto the berth with his twin.

"But it's dangerous," Prime said, trying to restart the same argument.

"_**We**_'re dangerous," Sideswipe added, wrapping his arms around his brother and pulling him close. "Besides, since Duplicity's attack, we're going to have to make sure you aren't targeted by your own officers. We can't let Duplicity's betrayal happen again."

"Precisely," Sunstreaker added, looking over to Prime where he stood beside the door, "We can't take the chance that you can be compromised."

"But this is dangerous,' Prime reiterated. He had barely escaped the explosion caused by his late Third In Command as he tried to sabotage the Autobot ranks. Prime's plating was still raw, the repair nanites taking time to seal over the weld marks from Ratchet's work. The blistered paint would be reapplied after his protoform had sufficient time to heal itself.

"And we've done this before,' Sideswipe said, getting himself comfortable. "Besides, we have the best medic in the galaxy watching over us."

"Doesn't mean the two of you won't get slagged," Ratchet added, crossing his arms over his chassis and staring at the two miscreants. He may not agree with what they were about to do, but he knew that they weren't going to be talked out of it. Once they set their processors to something, they'd see it through. And they had a point. The Autobots couldn't stand another direct attack against Prime. Duplicity had almost terminated him. They had to make sure such treachery never happened again.

"We promise, we won't slag ourselves,' Sunstreaker called over his shoulder toward the medic.

"You say that all the time," Ratchet groused.

"And it rarely happens,' Sideswipe amended.

"Wheeljack has a higher slagging rate than we do,' Sunstreaker added, hoping to rile Ratchet up into a good wrench throwing fit. It'd been awhile since the medic implemented his 'iron treatment regime.'

"I'm not joking,' Ratchet said, coming up behind Sunstreaker and leaning over the berth the two was sharing. He made sure both were looking at him as he added, "I don't want to hear how you two got stuck."

"Just keep a crowbar handy,' Sideswipe grinned. He tightened his hold around his brother's waist, earning a rumbling threat. Vice like fingers dug into Sideswipe's plating, reminding him that though they were artistically perfect, they were as lethal as the mech who commanded them.

Without another word, the twins split their chest plates, revealing their sparks.

"Ready?" Sideswipe asked, that boyish grin firmly in place.

"Oh Primus, what was I thinking?" Sunstreaker uttered then nodded.

As mirror images the twins pressed their sparks together. There was a flare of white, blinding Prime and Ratchet. A low hum filled the room as the sparks merged and with a soft compressing hiss, the light exploded, bright and thunderous. Both twins relaxed with dual sighs. Ratchet was silent though he was raging like a tormented sun.

{{-}} ^^^^ {{-}} ^^^^ {{-}} ^^^^ {{-}} ^^^^ {{-}} ^^^^ {{-}} ^^^^

Jazz was seated at the only operational bar in Iacon. He was just relieved from a double shift, his newly appointed boss, Prowl, giving him the extended assignment. Jazz swirled his high grade, watching the miasma of color shift in the tall funnel-like glass. He had only obtained the position of Third In Command after his predecessor, Duplicity, had shown his true colors. How the mech managed to fool everyone was a mystery, but the devastation he left behind was still felt throughout the ranks.

The younger mechs were terrified that someone had gotten so close to their leader. The older soldiers were angry because they didn't see the signs, nor had any inclination as to the validity of Duplicity's allegiance. Being the head of Special Ops had its own trials and potentially disastrous consequences. There was always the air of mystery and suspense around the select group that infiltrated Cons and caused dissent amongst their ranks. It was another skill set all together to cause the same discord among your own comrades.

Jazz sighed, wondering how in the name of Primus he was going to live up to the title of Third when he wasn't comfortable with command. He was a soldier. A lowly, underestimated, often overlooked, never acknowledged, soldier. And now he was heading the very unit that recruited him all those vorn ago.

Over half of their forces terminated due to the errant, misguided directives of the corrupt Duplicity and his hidden agenda to lower Prime's ranks by internal sabotage. Jazz had to rebuild his forces from the ground up. A sobering thought when one factored in the idea that Jazz himself was under investigation.

Jazz expected suspicions and accusations. He could handle it. There was nothing he was hiding, other than the obvious things that came with his job. He had a feeling that the Second, Prowl, was under the allusion that Jazz was working for the Cons. That was the only reason Jazz could think of to explain all the double shifts, duty rosters, and endless amounts of paperwork that came with the promotion of being the Third and the Head of Special Ops. Jazz didn't understand why Prowl or Prime couldn't handle some of the workload. Most of it was tedious and meaningless. Jazz just didn't see the point in all the bureaucratic red tape.

"Hello,' a sultry voice said, pulling Jazz out of his musings. "Do you mind if I sit?"

'Wha?.." Jazz asked, snapped out of his reverie by a very attractive femme. She was all black, with streaks of red paint along her arms and legs. Her frame was lithe and _oh so __**feminine**_. Her voice was velvet in Jazz's audios.

"Some mechs were pushy and I prefer they believe me unavailable," the femme said, taking the seat next to Jazz though he had yet to grant permission.

Jazz looked around the room and sure enough, the place had filled to near capacity within the short time of his musings. It was odd how time flew by when one was reminiscing about their life and future.

"So if you don't mind, I'm going to use you as my cover," the femme said, her sultry voice sending shivers down Jazz's spinal strut.

Jazz offered a nod and gave the room further scrutiny, taking in the occupants and any potential threats. There were quite a few leering mechs in the establishment, and all their optics were on the supple lines of the midnight femme. Two in particular were transfixed by the feminine curves as they sat in an unobtrusive corner, optics glowing a dull navy in the shadows.

"The name is Scorch," she said, waving to the barkeep for attention.

"Jazz," Jazz said, finding her name to be rather fitting. He could feel the heat rolling off her frame and it was enough to enflame even the smallest of embers of interest.

"Haven't seen you around here before," Scorch said, flashing the barkeep some credits to pay for her drink.

"First time," Jazz admitted, his optical band giving him privacy so he could scan the femmes frame more closely.

Her plating was as black as the heavens, with the deepest crimson accenting her long legs and slender arms. A thin pin-striping of the color created an appealing design along her chest plates. Her face was a soft pewter, set in tapered lines that left no doubt to her feminine standing. She was a stronger build than most femmes, her protoform peeking out in places that were enticing to the saboteur.

Saboteur. A title Jazz was never comfortable with. It was his job, not who he was. Every time he heard it, he felt like a traitor.

"So, what do we owe the pleasure of allowing you in our run down bar?" Scorch asked, her blue optics were dark, the highlights shimmering as waves on an ocean across her silvery complexion.

Jazz had never seen anything so lovely. Course he was already several shots down in the high grade, so his vision may have been a little distorted.

"Needed some time away," Jazz admitted. He drained the last of his drink, tapping the countertop to signal another round from the barkeep.

"We all need that," Scorch said, sipping her drink and openly surveying Jazz's slightly smaller frame. When the barkeep brought the next round, Scorch paid for it, her optics twinkling over the edge of her glass.

A mech came up behind Jazz, overshadowing the smaller mech by several degrees. He called for his drink, then turned his attention to the inky femme, his golden optics shining.

Scorch leaned forward, capturing Jazz's face in her palm and pulling his lip plates in a smoldering kiss that had his knees banging together. Her fingers ghosted along his neck, his audio, her kisses alternating between light and feathery, to rough and demanding. Jazz had no choice but to accept her dominance.

The lumbering mech who tried to overshadow the saboteur realized his silent dismissal by the femme and returned to his seat, where his fellow brutes sloshed drinks across the table in drunken song.

Scorch released Jazz's mouth, earning a whine of longing from his engine. She smiled, her optics twinkling in a way that had Jazz falling into their abyss. Her hand abandoned his cheek, but before he could verbalize any protest, her knee touched his, sending an electric tingle along his relays. Her EM field was teasing, pulsing in erratic waves, then tapering off to gentle touches along Jazz's sensors. His engine gave a rev, earning a coy look over her glass.

The next round, Scorch sipped her high grade, her glossa tracing a pattern along the rim as she stared at Jazz over the crystalline edge. His EM field gave a vibrant pulse, causing her to gasp against the rim before smiling, answering the magnetic wave with one of her own.

Two rounds later, her servo was caressing his. She downed the last of her shot, tossing the empty glass aside before grasping Jazz's helm and pulling him into a heated kiss. The warmed high grade was spiced with her unique flavor, his engine throttling on high as he drank her offering.

Jazz panted, his vision going foggy with want and confusing signals. Scorch kissed one audial then the other.

"Let's go somewhere private," Scorch whispered against his lips.

Jazz nodded, wavering on his pedes when he stood. Scorch linked her arms around his middle, waiting for him to get his bearings. His EM field fluxed wildly against her plating, causing her to shiver.

"There's a place around the corner,' Jazz said, his hand drifting to her waist and tweaking a wire.

Scorch nodded. Finding his step to be unwavering, Jazz headed out the door, arms entangled with Scorch. She stared adoringly into his face, her fingers teasing his sensors and sending his nerve circuits alive. Neither saw the mechs detach from the shadows and follow behind.

Pleasure houses offered a range of services to fit all tastes. One could rent a pleasure bot for an allotted time, providing ample credits. Or one could purchase a room designed for entertaining several variations of pleasure. For a few extra credits, the manager would conveniently forget your false designation or your details.

Scorch paid for an unoccupied room, allowing the manager a few extra credits for his discreet amnesia. He handed her a pass card, told her a room designation, and with a grin, she turned and took Jazz's servo in her own. Together they went to the next floor, Scorch leading the way, her fingers brushing against wires and sensors in Jazz's hip. His engine revved in musical arousal, allowing the femme to lead him to his overloading demise.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Scorch turned and captured his lip components. Her glossa teased along his plating, begging entry, which he granted, his servos clutching her waist and walking her backward to the awaiting berth.

He now knew how she earned her designation. He felt as if his body was melting with the sheer passion consuming him body and soul.

Jazz moaned, his hands going to the femme's waist and feeling her mold against him. He gasped against her lip components when he felt her hand on his interface panel.

"Tell me, what keeps you anchored to Iacon?" Scorch asked, her fingers nimble around the latches to the cover. Jazz refused to retract, forcing her to work for her goal. "Why not become neutral and leave Cybertron for a colony?"

"There is no guarantee the Cons won't find every neutral and slay them," Jazz said, moaning as she found a latch and undone it with uncanny precision.

"Don't you get tired of all the fighting?" Scorch asked, her EM field fluxing violently as an ion storm.

"Always," Jazz murmured, feeling his plating heat to an uncomfortable level.

"Why stay behind?" Scorch said, before kissing the saboteur with enough passion to cause his knees to go weak. "Why not venture to the stars and leave Cybertron to its fate?"

"Duty," Jazz answered between kisses. "I stay from duty."

His engine gave a rev when another latch was undone. The little vixen was quite apt at exploring male bodies, and getting their systems hot enough that release was needed. There was no way that he could come back to himself. The feather light touches, the gasps against his lips, her adamant fingers intent on exposing his spike. He couldn't come back if he wanted to.

"Duty to what?" Scorch asked, her lips hot and demanding as her digits slid beneath the corner of his interface panel and stroked a circuit. Jazz jumped in her arms.

"To my Prime,' Jazz answered, allowing the femme control.

"You work for the Prime?" Scorch asked, sounding shocked through her breathless pants.

Her fingers circled the last latch, the heat roiling from beneath the panel was hot enough to blister paint. With deft fingers, the last latch gave, allowing the panel to slide away. Jazz's spike extended at full attention, positioning itself between her thighs in eagerness. She gasped against the sudden stimulation.

Jazz nodded, his venting harsh, his fans whirling in his frame. He grabbed her wrists, causing her optics to go wide, her intakes to stall as she stared in abject fear into his lust filled visor.

"I did not come here to talk about Prime," Jazz said gruffly, taking the last step forward. The action caused Scorch's knees to hit the berth.

"So you wouldn't abuse your position to get what you want?" Scorch asked in what she hoped was a serious voice, though after she spoke, it sounded more of a teasing, taunting nature. The hammering of her spark and the irritating throb behind her interface panel was maddening.

"I don't need position or title to get what I want," Jazz said, lessening his grip on the thin wrists. With deliberate slowness he traced along the red streak up her arms, his servos ghosting over the ornamental scrolling along her chest plates. He could feel her spark frantic in its casing. The tip of his spike was resting against her closed interface panel, the thin metal the only barrier between the joining of their bodies.

"You would take what you want by force?" Scorch asked, her voice timid, almost frightened.

"Never," Jazz said, his servos sliding down her torso, a finger teasing a latch along her interface panel. "But I believe you did not bring me here to talk."

Scorch opened her mouth to speak but her words were cut off when Jazz's expert fingers teased her interface cover into retraction. She gasped, her hands grasping his arms as she accepted his kisses. And though his body was painful with arousal, Jazz was tender, easing her onto the berth, his mouth hot and demanding against her own. Her processor went blank, allowing the mech free reign of her body.

Once the hot valve sheathed his spike, Jazz was lost to his senses in a whirlwind of swirling nebulas and exploding stars. The celestial release lasted eons, the final boom of completion robbing both lovers of their consciousness.

When Jazz woke, it was to find Scorch below him, her face lax and serene in slumber. With sluggish intent his memory files surfaced, the proverbial little red flags demanding his instant attention. He combed through the files, some rather distorted due to drunken arousal, but his subconscious has flagged certain aspects of their conversation. It took only a couple of moments to scour through the memory files and with an expressionless face, Jazz looked down into Scorch's face. A thin line creased his brow in thought, his mind replaying the questions about Iacon, his job, and his reasons for staying in the Autobot stronghold. It seemed rather odd that such questions were asked, especially since it was clear the femme had been looking for a berth partner. The conversation wasn't the norm when seeking someone to warm your berth. It was as if she was interrogating him, but hiding the questions with innocent, sincere gasps of pleasure and writhing tension. His firewalls flashed in the background, warning him that they had been compromised, but after seeing his level of high grade consumption, it was no wonder.

With a frown, Jazz pulled out of the contented femme. As quietly as he could he wiped down his plating, his interface panel sliding shut without a sound. Wordlessly he left the slumbering femme, making sure to lock the door behind him in case something vile befell the femme while she slept.

Jazz's steps were heavy when he reached the main street. He walked toward the capitol, lost in thought, his pace slow. He knew he shouldn't have just left without a word, but a part of him was raging in his mind, telling him that something dreadful had happened during his post overload slumber. He just couldn't figure out what. The room had been left in order. The femme was still in deep charge. He was still reposing on her when he awoke. His body was sore in all his tender places, but that was to be expected when one had an exuberant berth partner. Scratches adorned his body that would require a good repaint before he presented himself to Prime for his report on his division later in the cycle. His memory files were blurry but that was from the high grade. Jazz entered the Autobot headquarters, missing the moving shadow that darted after him and disappeared in the larger, oppressing shadow of the fortified complex.

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"How did it go?" Ratchet asked, running a scan over the frame.

"Surprisingly very well," Scorch answered.

"Prime expects a full report when you are able," Ratchet said, motioning to the isolation bay.

Scorch followed and together they stepped into the cleansing chamber. A mist surrounded them, removing any contaminants. A heavy solvent shower followed before the fans kicked on and roared over the two frames, drying them thoroughly before allowing them to exit. When the cycle was complete they stepped into the isolation ward.

Without a word, Scorch went to the wide berth and lay down beside the inert golden frame. She rolled to face her berth partner, her chest plates splitting. A finger traced the lifeless face for a moment before caressing the opened chest plates that displayed an empty core. She pressed their open chest plates together and filled the room with blinding white light.

{{-}} ^^^^ {{-}} ^^^^ {{-}} **OO** ^^^^ {{-}} ^^^^ {{-}} ^^^^ {{-}}

"How's he doing?" Prime asked, watching as Ratchet attended Sunstreaker.

"Recovering," Ratchet answered, checking over the golden mech's vitals. "It takes his systems some time to recalibrate after separation and reintegration."

"I always feel bad for that," Sideswipe said where he was sitting on the berth beside his twin. Two cubes of medical grade were on the stand beside the berth, the third cube held in Sideswipe's servo. "Doesn't seem fair that he has to leave his frame and share mine."

"You are built with dual chambers," Ratchet said, giving Sideswipe an expectant look. He waited until Sideswipe took another drink before adding, "It's the only way that you two will register as one spark signature and not announce your unique physiology to everyone around you."

That little biological imperfection had caused others a lot of dissent, realizing that a set of spark split twins dwelt in their midst. The twins were considered unnatural and a defiance of the natural order. No one wanted to work with them nor spend too long their in company, a fear of their abnormality rubbing off on their comrades. It was that mentality that kept them separate from most. As soon as a mech or femme sensed their half spark signatures on their proximity sensors, then their identities was instantly recognized.

"I know," Sideswipe muttered through a sigh. "Lucky slagger. He doesn't have to put up with mechs spiking him."

"He suffers in his own way," Ratchet pointed out at the still dormant mech.

"He gets to leave his frame intact," Sideswipe groused, giving his twin a scathing look before returning his attention to his own frame. Sideswipe's protoform was bare, awaiting his recovery to integrate the heavier armor he employed for the front lines. "It's not fair I have to be the one that has to be reformatted with the femme lines and allow the mechs to spike me."

"Your frame is easier to reformat," Ratchet pointed out. His optics went to the half drank cube in expectation. Sideswipe sighed and took another drink before Ratchet continued, "Sunstreaker has so many augmentations, its slagging near impossible to get him retrofitted. Not to mention, only your frame has a valve."

"Yeah, I wonder about that," Sideswipe said, glaring at his twin again.

"What is your evaluation of Jazz?" Prime asked, now that he knew the welfare of his two best agents.

"After he overloaded, Sunny was able to hack into his cortex," Sideswipe reported. As always, Sideswipe had no problem in seducing someone and reporting on their intimate moments to the only mech he respected. Aside from Ratchet. Though Sideswipe would rather terminate than let the medic know how high he was held in the twins' optics. "Jazz presents as he appears, Prime. He's trustworthy, sincere in his allegiance to the Autobots and he shares your morals."

"No sign of defection or sympathy toward the Decepticons?" Prime asked.

"Sunny only sensed hatred and pain," Sideswipe said, his face looking downtrodden. "I'm not sure what he witnessed, but whatever it was, it caused Jazz a lot of pain and suffering. He blames the Cons. I don't see him allying with them."

Prime nodded, deep in thought.

"He is an excellent choice for Head of Special Ops." Sideswipe added. "Jazz will be invaluable."

"Not as valuable as my two 'Secret' Ops," Prime said.

Sideswipe gave a solemn nod. He may act all crazy and drive the command staff to frenzied anger, but he was loyal to Prime. There was no questioning his adamant stance with the Autobots. Sunstreaker was just as vehement, though he hid his loyalty behind a scowl and a violent temper.

But Prime knew. And he respected the two that went to such lengths to ensure his safety. He never questioned their loyalty to him and held their opinions in high regard, even above the suggestions of his chosen officers at times.

Not that the officers were ever aware.

"Recovery time," Ratchet said, motioning for Sideswipe to down his cube. When it was gone, Ratchet took the cube and snapped his fingers to get the frontliner's compliance. "You know the drill."

"Yeah, and I'm familiar with the wrench and the screwdriver as well," Sideswipe quipped, then looked to Prime and asked, "Anything else, Sir?"

"No, that will be sufficient," Prime said, giving a nod to his best undercover agent. "I still expect a full report when both of you are able."

"I will cause some chaos and get sent to you for a reprimand," Sideswipe promised, already knowing the subterfuge used to have their private conversations without the officers knowing.

"Just don't destroy anything," Prime warned, giving Sideswipe a look full of meaning.

Sideswipe settled onto the berth as Ratchet began to shut down his systems for the reformatting. "I make no promises."

"If I have to put your slagging aft back together again, I'll put your helm up your aft," Ratchet threatened, brandishing a wrench for emphasis.

"Oh, I love it when you talk reformatting," Sideswipe grinned, not perturbed in the least with having his body contorted into doing something so drastic.

Ratchet huffed and hit the final shut down sequence, knocking Sideswipe cold. He grumbled as he worked. He didn't notice Prime take his leave, nor the laughter as soon as the door slid shut.

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**So, did you see THAT one coming? **

**See that button at the bottom? Hit that and let me know what you think. And remember, TWO chapters next week… get ready, set aside some reading time, and warm up your keyboards for an extensive discussion on each chapter. ;)**

**I answer each review as I'm able. Check your inboxes!**

**Much love, PJ**

**Hey! I just realized I share Prowl and Jazz's signature! Whoot! **


	60. A Laughing Streak

A Laughing Streak

AN: Merry Christmas Eve

Here's your first little present before the big present tomorrow.

Remove the DOTS with "." and go to:

wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=lDW08w6PoXc

About 20:30 is an absolutely beautiful song that really sums up the holiday season.

**{{-X-}}{{-X-}}{{-X-}}{{-X-}}{{-X-}}{{-X-}}{{-X-}}{{-X-}}{{-X-}}{{-X-}}{{-X-}}{{-X-}}{{-X-}}{{-X-}}**

Prowl groaned, grabbing his throbbing helm. A twin groan was heard to his right. Five seconds later, there was another from his left. Optics flickering, the Praxian opened his optics to find the orange ceiling of the ARK hovering over him. He was flat on his back, with his doorwings splayed behind him as an angelic highlight. And from the cold metal pressed against his posterior, he wasn't in his quarters.

"Slagging Sideswipe," a baritone voice growled from the right.

Prowl turned his helm and found Smokescreen lying beside of him, his bleary optics gazing into Prowl's own. When the blue Praxian noticed who was laying a few inches from him, his doorwings hiked up, the bottom one scraping painfully against metal berth. The other doorwing wobbled in mid air before falling over Smokescreen's right shoulder in limp surrender.

"What's going on?" came Bluestreak's voice from Prowl's left.

Prowl turned and looked at the young gunner, finding him to be laying on his left side in a mirror image of Smokescreen on Prowl's right. Bluestreak emitted a little squeak as he looked into the annoyed face of the SIC.

"Prowl, Sir? What are you doing in my quarters?" Bluestreak asked.

Prowl groaned as he tried to move, his joints protesting the movement. He struggled into a sitting position and found that all three Praxian's were displayed in the rec room on several tables that had been shoved together. Smokescreen and Bluestreak joined Prowl, surveying the rec room and finding it strangely uninhabited.

"I was charging in my quarters," Smokescreen said.

"I as well," Prowl added. He checked his chronometer and let out a groan as he realized he had slept through half of the morning. His paperwork was surely mounted as high as the ceiling.

"Did we miss the party?" Bluestreak asked

"Guys, I think we _were_ the party," Smokescreen sighed in aggravation.

"What do you mean?" Prowl asked, a sinking feeling taking his tank down into the mantle of the Earth.

Bluestreak gave a garbled noise of surprise, scrambling off the tables. When he was standing a few feet away, a pewter blush on his face, Prowl saw what caused the young gunner such distress. Bluestreak was painted in what appeared to be a dainty pink undergarment the human females wear. There was a stripe of pink over the gunner's hips that connected to a frilly looking triangle on Bluestreak's interface panel. Both of his headlights were painted the same pink color, a light dusting of color giving the impression of 'cleavage.' The straps were a ruffled pink that went over the gunner's shoulders.

Smokescreen hopped off the table as well, sighing at his own set of frilly lady underthings that were painted with the delicate of ease. He rolled his optics as he regarded Prowl.

"One guess what you're wearing,' Smokescreen smirked, noting that Prowl's ensemble seemed a more 'risqué' than that of the other two Praxian's. Where Smokescreen and Bluestreak were decorated in a 'bikini' style panty, Prowl was sporting what was known as a thong. And his 'cleavage' was enhanced to resemble a much larger bust than the other two Praxian's.

Prowl didn't need to look down to know that he too was painted the design of human lingerie. Fists forming at his side, he whirled, almost striking Smokescreen with his doorwings as he marched from the rec room.

'**Prowl, what are you doing?'** Red Alert's voice almost yelled through the comm..

'**I'm about to commit murder if you must know,**' Prowl answered as he stalked down the hall.

'**You better go hide in your quarters until you can get the paint off.'** Red Alert warned.

'**Don't worry Red Alert I will make it clear to Prime that you are not at fault in this homicide,'** Prowl said, turning the corner and heading toward the command hub where he knew the twins were scheduled for monitor duty.

'**Prowl don't! There are humans visiting!'** Red Alert sounded on the verge of an all out panic attack.

Before the information sunk in, Prowl had made it to his destination. He halted midstep, noting the two dozen human representatives that were in deep conversation with Prime and Jazz. Prowl felt his systems freeze, unsure what he should do, when Sideswipe made the decision for him.

"Prowl! Put some clothes on!" Sideswipe yelled from the monitor.

Every set of eyes and optics swiveled around to stare at the stoic SIC. The humans gasped, many covering their mouths with their hands, their eyes wide and staring. Jazz suppressed a laugh at the outrageous get up Prowl was painted in. The scene became even more comical when Smokescreen and Bluestreak joined their brethren. All three sported the pink panty design with little swirls of lace and all three enhanced with buxom appeal along their chassis. The human females looked scandalous. The human males looked vaguely interested. Prime was stunned into silence. Jazz was trembling with mirth. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were pressing their lip components in a thin line to keep from laughing.

Bluestreak's engine gave an aggravated rev, having noticed the human audience to the embarrassment. Smokescreen added to the noise with a growl deep in his engine, his door wings flexing. Prowl stood glaring daggers at the twins, his optics narrowed into slits and shining with malice normally associated with Decepticons. His door wings were held in a stiff formation showcasing his new feminine features.

Prowl took one step toward his targets. Smokescreen and Bluestreak mirrored him.

Another step, Prowl's door wings flicked, the growl in his engine turned vicious. Several witnesses shivered at the tone. Prowl took another step and when he raised his pede for the next step, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker took off like bolts of lightning.

As soon as the coward Lamborghinis took to flight, the chase was on.

Though Smokescreen and Bluestreak were slagged off, they knew better than to go after Sunstreaker. He could easily overpower both and not even be winded. Prowl on the other hand was another demon altogether. It took a lot to get him slagged off and when he did, he had no problem subduing either Lamborghini. The extensive training he learned in the Enforcers and many forms of self defense and attack strategies, had given him an advantage. Not to mention he was used to the twins and could plan their next possible series of attacks. They were good, but they were predictable.

Sunstreaker was cornered in a matter of seconds, Prime his only route of escape. Opting not to go through the Autobot leader, Sunstreaker turned to take on his attacker and found himself tumbling in a whirlwind of black and white. When he felt the ground connect with him, he could only see in monochromatic tones before the world exploded in black.

Smokescreen and Bluestreak were having a hard time pinning Sideswipe down. With a few deft blows, both were groaning on the ground. Sideswipe stood triumphant over the two, a smirk on his face. He didn't need his proximity sensors to let him know Prowl was targeting him. When he felt his brother's slip from consciousness, there was only one explanation.

Sideswipe grinned, darting left and right, evading Prowl with ease.

"Looking good there, Prowl!" Sideswipe taunted, shaking his aft and waggling his brow plates in a suggestive manner.

Prowl growled and launched himself after Sideswipe, chasing the ruby warrior around the command center. Music blared from Sideswipe's systems as he passed Prime and the stunned human representatives. With a cheeky look to his commanding officer Sideswipe darted out of the room, Prowl hot on his heels. The Benny Hill theme song following both out the door.

Prime was speechless. Not sure how to proceed, he cleared his vents and looked to Jazz, who took over with aplomb.

"As you can tell, we have adapted to Earth culture and find it not only entertaining and joyous amusement, but something that binds all of us together, regardless of species,' Jazz said, offering a charming smile. "We can share in a laugh at the silliness of our friends and family."

The humans smiled, resuming their talks. Prime vented a sigh of relief. Jazz commed Prime, asking for a raise.

It was denied.

Prowl chased Sideswipe around the ARK, all the while the melodious tinkling of the Benny Hill song played from Sideswipe's speakers.

When Prowl finally caught the Lamborghini, Sideswipe pulled the Praxian on top of him and grinned.

"Nice panties, Prowl," Sideswipe snickered before a fist knocked him cold.

Ratchet found both Lamborghinis in his med bay, missing their interface panels. Smokescreen had seen fit to write crude messages all over their bodies and used a paint that wasn't easily removed. When the twins regained consciousness, Sunstreaker proceeded to send his brother to emergency surgery, where he spent the rest of the week recovering from his latest ingenious scheme.

**{{-M-}}{{-E-}}{{-R-}}{{-R-}}{{-Y-}}{{-C-}}{{-H-}}{{-R-}}{{-I-}}{{-S-}}{{-T-}}{{-M-}}{{-A-}}{{-S-}}**

**Reviews would be awesome presents!**

***Bow wrapped Lambos to all reviewers***


	61. Side Show

SIDE SHOW

Inspiration strikes at odd times and by the weirdest of things. I completely and utterly blame Mystery Science Theater 3000 for the inspiration to this chapter. After you read this, go watch "Mighty Jack" on youtube.

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**AN: DO NOT eat or drink anything while reading. You have been warned.**

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Sideswipe's face beamed like a thousand suns. His prank was going to work. And this time, it was going to be so epic, both factions would talk about it for years! All he had to do was implant the right code for the right mech and calculate the exact time the joke would be put into effect.

The console beeped, letting the front liner know that his program had been approved and would be uploaded at the appointed time.

Normally the main super computer than ran the Autobot base would never have allowed Sideswipe access, let alone allow him to upload and corrupt files for his own devious schemes. But Sideswipe had thought a way around the security measures put into place to prevent his diabolical interference. After watching countless officers and always being mindful of their hands, he had learned the pass codes used by every mech on base, especially the command staff. All he had to do was find a little used console and begin writing the program.

The console just enacted the subfolder that was added under Optimus Prime's own personal code. When the key sequence asked for verification, Jazz and Prowl's codes found their way into the system, letting the back up console know that the changes were authorized.

With a snicker, Sideswipe left the terminal, a skip to his step and an annoyed sensation filtered back from his twin. Sideswipe entered the quarters he shared with his brother and found a paint splattered golden mech standing at an easel with his back to the door.

"You won't believe what I just did," Sideswipe singsonged, going to his twin and standing behind him, mindful of the spastic moves of the artistic hand.

"Knowing you and your complete lack of intelligence, I'm guessing it was something childish and potentially asinine," Sunstreaker said, not looking away from his project.

"I just added a few codes to Tele-Tran," Sideswipe said, taking a step forward and wrapping his arms around his brother's midsection. He laid his chin on his twin's shoulder, looking at the canvas from the artist's point of view.

Sunstreaker halted his painting and emitted a low, rumbling growl in warning. He hated it when his brother invaded his personal space. He hated _anyone_ getting near him. He only just tolerated Sideswipe as a normal, and very annoying, satellite. And the fragger always waited until he was busy before mech handling him in happiness at a prank well executed.

"Let go of me," Sunstreaker growled, sending a flood of anger over the bond.

Sideswipe instantly released his twin, knowing that while he was in an artistic mood, the slagger had quite the attitude. It wouldn't be the first time Sunstreaker had retaliated against his twin while he was trying to work. Sunstreaker's emotional state was more volatile while he was painting.

"When everyone goes in for a repair and Ratchet hooks them up the medical berths, the program will download," Sideswipe said, hoping to assuage his twins' anger.

"Which means there's a good chance either one of us will end up with the faulty program and you'll crash **us**," Sunstreaker said, feeling his brother's EM field retreat from his own. "Smart plan you devised there, idiot."

"Actually, it's calculated to ignore us," Sideswipe said, giving his twin a cheeky look that meant he_** knew**_ he had done something smart. It was a rare occurrence. "But only us."

Sunstreaker offered a snort as comment. He put his brush to canvas and flicked his wrist, adding just the right amount of color to his painting. He stepped back, taking a close scrutiny, before loading up his brush and touching the canvas. His hand slipped when the alarm sounded for enemy incursion. Frowning at the misplaced streak, Sunstreaker growled, slamming down his pallet and following his brother out the door. If Decepticons chose now to attack, Sunstreaker would personally dismantle every one of them.

When the twins raced to the Command Hub, it was to find half the mechs chasing Lazerbeak. With a screech the metal bird spiraled upward, blasting a hole in the volcano's crown and exiting with a mocking chirp.

"What's going on?" Prowl demanded, running into the Command Center.

"Ask Red Alert!" Gears shouted, subspacing his weapon and staring at the hole in the ceiling. He just knew that he'd be the one assigned to fix it.

Before Prowl could inquire any further, Red Alert came thundering into the room, his pedefalls ringing loud and clear in aggravation.

"Someone wasn't doing their job!" Red Alert shouted, turning accusing optics to Tracks and Powerglide. Both look guilty, their optics downcast.

"What is going on?" Prime asked, joining the mechs in the command Hub.

"Because of Tracks and Powerglide and their idiotic argument about aerial maneuvers, they allowed Lazerbeak to infiltrate us!" Red Alert snapped, sparks flying from his helm.

"Calm down, Red Alert," Prowl interjected, placing a hand on the twitchy mech's arm. If he got too excited, he could glitch. "Both will spend the next week in the brig for this oversight."

Red Alert relaxed a margin, his livid glare still fixated on the two guilty parties. "Fine! But I want to add to their punishment."

"What do you have in mind?" Prowl asked, earning a couple of muffled noises of protest. It wasn't common practice for Prowl to add to a mechs sentence.

"They will have to clean every lens on base and assist me in finding out our vulnerable places so this type of incident doesn't happen again," Red Alert demanded, looking away from the two and staring at Prowl in anger.

Prowl gave a nod. "That is an acceptable amendment." He turned to the two guilty mechs and nodded toward the hall. "You are confined to the brig for one week and afterwards, Red Alert will have a schedule made for further punishment detail. Dismissed."

Both mechs lowered their helms and marched from the room properly chastised.

"What did Lazerbeak get?" Ironhide asked, going to the main terminal at Tele-Tran and typing in a series of codes. The video footage showed the sneaky bird slipping past a haughty Tracks who couldn't lower his olfactory sensor from the ceiling to observe the Decepti-birdie hiding in the shadows.

"Looks like ol' Beaky went for one of the lesser used terminals," Jazz added, cross checking data and video feeds on the monitor beside of Ironhide. "Terminal delta seven one."

Red Alert joined Jazz and with a frown, he shook his head. "That is one of the inactive consoles."

"Says here it's active," Jazz said, nodding to the log.

"It's was disabled due to it being a redundant station and requiring too much power to operate." Red Alert watched as Jazz manipulated the computer as easily as himself.

"Its active," Jazz repeated, bringing up the consoles logs. Sure enough, it had a stored history of at least six months.

"That's odd," Red Alert frowned, opening the files and reading their contents. "It says here that Prime has been using the consol on a regular basis."

"I haven't used that console," Prime said, joining his officers. "I believed it to be non-operational."

"Says here you reinstated it six months ago," Red Alert read off, recognizing the encryption code unique to Prime.

"Well, at least I know there isn't anything on that station that can be used against us," Red Alert said, making a note to add a camera on the console in question.

"How can you be sure?" Sideswipe asked, knowing there was no way Red Alert could trace him to the usage. Sideswipe was good. Really good. He knew how to cover his tracks and to use someone else's ident-codes.

"I had that consol removed from the main network when it was decommissioned," Red Alert said, giving the red Lamborghini a quick glance before searching the vid feed for Sideswipe's guilty aft. There was a high probability that he had been using the console for his own nefarious scheming.

"Tele-Tran reports no signs of Deception infiltration," Jazz reported, skimming through the logs.

Prime and Prowl nodded, watching the main consol as Jazz brought up the schematics. Sure enough, the console in question had been decommissioned. Its signoff date was the week after they had been reactivated. Due to need to conserve energy, redundancy programs and terminals were rendered inoperable, their connections to the main system severed.

"Tele-Tran is still intact," Red Alert reported. "No sign of downloaded viruses or spyware."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Sideswipe's wide optics went to his twin, surprise and trepidation flooding their link. Sunstreaker sent a questioning ping to his twin and with a jerk of his head, Sideswipe lead the way out of the commander center. He remained quiet until both were safe inside their quarters and Sideswipe gave his brother an apprehensive look.

"Lazerbeak was in the consol I used to hack the system," Sideswipe admitted, feeling his tanks threatening to purge.

"So what?" Sunstreaker said, going to his easel and grabbing his paints to resume work. "The terminal didn't go anywhere. It wasn't linked to the main systems. No harm done. Red Alert already gave the green light. So there's no chance of it being traced to you. And whatever idiocy you had planned won't come back to bite us in the aftplates."

"Well, about that," Sideswipe trailed off. When Sunstreaker turned in slow motion, optics narrowed in that dangerous way that meant parts would fly, Sideswipe added, "I didn't know about Red severing the link, so when I hacked into the system, I used Prime, Prowl, and Jazz's codes to do the overrides."

"You did what?" Sunstreaker asked in a low, threatening voice. He put down his paints and turned fully to his brother.

"I was hoping to use the back door and get into the medical berths. In order to change coding, I had to use the officer overrides," Sideswipe explained, feeling both threatened from his brother and scared of what his indiscretion could be uncovered because of Lazerbeak.

"You need to tell Prime," Sunstreaker said, jerking his head toward the door. "NOW!"

"I can't!" Sideswipe cried, starting to pace. "If they knew that I know their codes, then they'll change them and be careful when I'm around and I wont be able to know the codes and if I need them, then I wont have them and…."

Sideswipe's rambling was stopped when he turned and ran headfirst into his brother, who had moved without sound to block his path.

"You're idiocy could cost the base its security and not only get our comrades killed, but us as well," Sunstreaker said his voice stern and commanding. "Go to Prime. Tell him that you used the codes, so he, Jazz, and Prowl can change their codes and secure this base once again." When Sideswipe opened his mouth, Sunstreaker's fist connected with his jaw, sending him reeling, "Enough of your pranks! You're going to get us killed! Now, go tell them what you did, take your punishment and pray to Primus that Lazerbeak doesn't use those codes against us."

Sideswipe had no choice but to obey. With Sunstreaker's firm grip on his arm, he was marched out of their quarters and right to Prime's office, where Prowl was already presenting a report. Both officers looked shocked at the sudden intrusion, but with Sunstreaker's shining vehemence, Sideswipe admitted to his misdeed. When he was finished, Sunstreaker offered him a shove toward the now stunned officers and left, returning to his awaiting easel.

"How long have you known my code?" Prowl asked, the shock wearing off.

"Umm… since about two breams after I meet you," Sideswipe admitted.

Prowl looked taken aback for a few seconds before he asked, "What exactly did you use that terminal for?"

"I was setting up a prank,' Sideswipe admitted. He already knew he was going to be serving a long sentence. It was good to come clean with the whole scheme lest the command element learn about the added 'bonuses' and see fit to punish him again. Sunstreaker was right. Lazerbeak could take the codes to Megatron and the whole base could be wiped out. All because he wanted a good joke.

"The codes will be changed immediately," Prime said, looking to Prowl. "Double security as precaution."

Prowl nodded, "I have already assigned Sideswipe to the extra shifts."

"Oh man," Sideswipe sighed. He hated guard duty. It was boring.

"What else did you put on that console?" Prime asked, knowing Sideswipe the way he did, there was a good chance that other things had been placed in the console as well.

"I was hoping to put a little_ program_ in the main consoles that would add little… 'glitches'… to anyone who charged," Sideswipe didn't elaborate on the med bay aspect. He was already in deep trouble. Admitting to tampering with potential life saving equipment was sure to get him sent to the smelters. Prime was forgiving, but if his soldiers were in danger from a stupid prank, he'd end the prankster with his bare servos.

"You wrote a code?" Prowl asked hoping to understand what Sideswipe was trying to say without giving away all of his true intentions.

"Just a program to make everyone act funny after they charged," Sideswipe said, looking to the floor. "It wasn't going to hurt anyone and the effects would wear off in a day or so."

"And what if the Decepticons attacked during the time that we would be incapacitated due to your mischievous intentions?" Prowl asked, his doorwings hiking high in aggravation.

"I didn't think," Sideswipe admitted. It was true. He didn't calculate on what would happen if there had been an attack while the crew was enacting their roles from the programming glitch.

"Obviously," Prowl gritted.

"You have guard duty to attend," Prowl said in dismissal.

Sideswipe sighed, receiving a databurst of his new schedule. He groaned, realizing he had two hours of downtime between charging, guard duty, and refueling. No days were scheduled off in a two week time period. He took up position in front of the ARK, his weapon held at the ready. If the Decepticons attacked, then he'd be ready. How dare they use his hard stolen codes to use against the Autobots. Those codes were for Sideswipe's devilish schemes.

The Decepticons didn't attack that day or night. The next morning however, Prime received an incoming transmission from Nemesis. Taking a deep inhale, he steeled himself up for whatever cruelty Megatron had to throw at him.

It wasn't uncommon for Megatron to threaten and taunt the Autobots, or insult Prime and his values. And the Autobots had witnessed the vile mech in his war room and sitting on his grand throne many times. What they had never seen before was Megatron wearing what could only be described as a black and white 'coat.' The striping of some earthen animal, zebra or white tiger, was adorning Megatron's shoulders like a ceremonial cloak. To say it was strange was an understatement.

"Greetings, Mr. Prime," Megatron said, leaning back on his throne in relaxed nonchalance. Ravage was clutched under his left arm, the small cassette looking very miffed. "It is an honor you would grace us with your presence."

"O…kay," Prime muttered so only the surrounding mechs could hear him. He squared his shoulders and addressed the warlord on the screen. "What do you want, Megatron?"

"I wished to extend to you a small courtesy before I terminate you," Megatron said, his right hand crossing over to stroke Ravage. The cat mimic scowled at the treatment but didn't verbalize any protest.

"Why is Megatron dressed like a pimp?" Spike asked, staring at the Decepticon leader clad in animal print.

"Dunno," Bumblebee said, his face blank as he stared at the monitor.

"Thanks for thinking of us," Jazz sneered, knowing Megatron was up to something.

Megatron opened his mouth to speak, but halted, looking down at Ravage with a confused look. He lifted the cyberpanther up and gave him a little shake, as if checking a broken toy.

Ravage offered a tinny, "_Meow_," in response.

The noise appeased Megatron, who smiled at his pet and tucked him back under his arm before continuing.

"You have evaded capture long enough, Mr. Prime," Megatron said, his gaze focused on his favorite enemy. "Today, you and your friends shall suffer defeat!"

"Sure," Jazz said, barely able to keep his jaw from hanging on the floor. He exchanged a look with Ironhide and mouthed, _'Mr. Prime?'_, his optics wide and searching. Ironhide offered a half shrug.

It was obvious, Megatron had taken quite the hit to the helm. His hand went back to stroking Ravage along the head and neck, some scratches making an irritating screeching noise. Ravage didn't look happy. Another tinny _'Meow'_ escaped and it was obvious the panther was frowning in discontent.

"As we speak, my forces are gathering," Megatron continued, his hand idly stroking the temperamental panther. "Soon, all pieces will be in place. And you will tremble in fear before I deal the killing blow."

The twins walked into the Command center just in time to hear Megatron's declaration. Sunstreaker scowled as Sideswipe's step faltered, his optics going to the screen and staring at the strange sight. Sunstreaker halted his step toward the monitors the duo was to watch during their shift, but his gaze traveled along his brother's frame, and followed his line of sight. With a surprised gasp he saw Megatron's ugly face in the view screen.

"What's up with Chrome-Dome?" Sunstreaker asked, noting how Megatron had dressed himself in organic garments and was petting a snarling Ravage.

Sideswipe went to the main console and typed in a code, cutting the transmission. Jazz offered an annoyed growl, his visor glaring at the ruby warrior.

"What the slag was that all about?" Jazz demanded. "Megatron is up to something! You could have just slagged him off and he'll go do something destructive to the humans!"

"Maybe, but I doubt it," Sideswipe said, turning the monitor back on to see Megatron frowning at the screen.

Megatron picked up Ravage and rose from his throne, his steps heavy. Ravage was tucked under his left arm and squirmed in discomfort, not being used to such treatment. Megatron scowled, his servo banging on the vid-screen a couple of times.

Sideswipe looked over his shoulder and muttered, "Pretend to be impressed and agree with whatever he says."

Without waiting for confirmation from Prime, Sideswipe hit the audio button and called, "Sorry about that. Glitch in the system. You know what its like with these older systems."

Megatron looked pleased with the return of audio and visual feed. His hand went back to Ravage and stroked before giving the cyberpanther another jostle. Ravage offered the customary,_ 'Meow'_, though instead of it being its normal tinny timbre, it was growling with annoyance.

"You will suffer," Megatron droned on as if nothing had happened. "And just before you terminate, you will see that I alone am the superior ruler."

"Yes, you are," Prime said, playing along like Sideswipe ordered.

Just as Megatron went to speak, a flash of purple filled the screen and Skywarp's aft appeared. Shaking, wiggling, and completely devoid of any armor. The dull pewter of his protoform was discernable before disappearing in another violet flash. Megatron stood, gazing at the screen, as if trying to remember what he was doing.

All of the Autobots in the ARK were staring at the screen too, but in stupefied shock. It was Sideswipe who snapped Megatron out of his daze and into action.

"You will never defeat us," Sideswipe said, shaking his fist at Megatron and a childish display of aggression. "We have a spy in your midst. We will never be bested!"

"We shall see!" Megatron snapped, his optics narrowing as he flexed his body. In the process of showing up his arch nemesis, he forgot about Ravage tucked under his arm. Ravage gave a pained yowl before clawing himself free of Megatron's grip. Megatron look frightened and stunned, glaring at his feline companion.

"Poor kitty!" Megatron called, sounding distraught over harming Ravage. "I didn't mean it. I just got upset. Don't be scared."

Ravage hissed and ran off, much to Megatron's dismay. Megatron turned back to the screen, anger making his face look pinched.

"You will never defeat me!" Megatron yelled before the transmission was cut.

The Command Hub was quiet until Jazz looked to Sideswipe with a questionable look.

"What the slag was that all about?" Jazz asked.

"The joke I was going to play next was a hidden program that would incorporate irregular behavior during a mechs charge. Lazerbeak was hiding in the terminal I used, so he got the programming, and I'm betting he downloaded it into Nemesis' computers," Sideswipe admitted. He was already scheduled for a lot of thought provoking sentry duty. He already had a long dissection of his most recent actions and found them to be lacking the humor he was striving for.

"What exactly was your plan?" Prowl asked, feeling a burning sensation along his battle computer. Statistics, tactics, millions of moving pieces, calculated risks, orders, counter-orders, all he could deal with and suffer no ill side effects. Sideswipe? Well, the mech could bring on a processor ache just by being in the same room. He was also responsible for the more memorable crashes to the tactician's resume.

"I wrote a program that would give mechs different personalities or enhance certain aspects of their programming," Sideswipe said, knowing he was adding the metaphorical nails to his coffin. "I mixed it up from television programs to movies to characters from a book. The idea was to get everyone acting out their favorite character or something that best fit their personality."

"And Megatron was just channeling, whom?" Prime asked, finally pulling his gaze away from the blank screen. The scene was still being processed.

"I think it was something from a spy movie," Sideswipe said, then remembered Ravage's part in the scene. "Actually, I think he was a villain."

"Care to elaborate?" Prowl asked, wanting to scoff and slap the Lamborghini senseless.

"Spy movie. Villains that strokes their pet, and likes to tell the good guy their diabolical scheme right before they initialize it, giving the hero time to escape or foil the plan," Sideswipe offered, then gave Prime a grimace. "As for Skywarp, I don't know why he just showed us his aft."

"He's an idiot," Ratchet said, shaking his head at the lunacy that surrounded him. "He's probably acting out one of those college movies or one of the cheap, poorly scripted young adult centered idiocy that the uneducated flock to in droves."

Sideswipe snickered, knowing Ratchet had a habit of watching the very movies he just bashed. It was like someone condemning masturbation but having an extensive porn collection. Just as the thought crossed Sideswipe's mind, he immediately gasp and started typing a code into Tele-Tran.

"What are you doing?" Prowl snapped, irate with the warrior who seemed to forget all about the talk they had concerning using the terminals and putting hacking skills to use.

Sideswipe's servos flew over the controls with ease and in twenty seconds flat, the screen lit up, showing the interior of the Nemesis.

"How did you do that?" Red Alert asked. He was on his way over to scold Sideswipe about touching the monitors when the unusual video feed lit up, capturing everyone's attention.

"Back door, as the humans call it," Sideswipe said, forgetting that he just used a well hidden trick to hack into the Decepticon's own security systems. There was a good probability that he was going to be having another one of those long, boring talks with Prowl again.

"Is… is that…. Nemesis?" Jazz asked, though it could be no where else.

Megatron was sitting on his throne, but instead of petting Ravage, he held Lazerbeak, who looked just as uncomfortable as his brethren cassette had been in such a position. Soundwave was standing behind the warlord, his servos rubbing and massaging along the black and white stripped shoulders.

"What in the name of Primus is Soundwave doing?" Jazz hissed in a low voice, still staring at the screen.

"You can speak normally. They don't know we're watching," Sideswipe said, then winced when everyone's optics swiveled to him. He knew he should have kept his vocalizer shut.

"You mean, we can watch them and they don't know it?" Red Alert asked, sounded stunned and just a little hurt. Surely he could have been entrusted with such vital information?

"Yeah, found the back door to the Nemesis a few months ago," Sideswipe said, knowing his favorite off-duty activity had just been discovered by the crew. Many a time Sideswipe had sequestered himself so he could watch the goings-on at the Nemesis without outside interference. He had watched as Megatron plotted and planned and stalked about his domain in a foul mood. It was usually Starscream who took the brunt of the punishment. Sideswipe didn't want to admit it, but he did feel sorry for the jet. Many times he had been beaten until offlined by the tyrant. To Sideswipe, it seemed worse than the pits.

"And you didn't care to share this information with the rest of us?" Prowl asked, his lip plates pursing in a line that meant he was a bit miffed.

Prime turned to the ruby mech and added, "Any other little tricks you know that you would like to share with the rest of us?"

"A few," Sideswipe grinned, waggling his brow plating. "But they require a berth and a few props."

Collective groans went through the assembled bots. Someone gasped and Spike literally squalled like an angered cat. Everyone turned to look and found a rather disturbing scene.

"Well, I know where the porn programming went," Sideswipe snorted, then choked.

Starscream sauntered into view, most of his armor removed and tinges of pink dotted along his person. He was licking energon off his fingers, a half consumed cube held in his servo as he watched Megatron through half lidded optics. He dipped his finger back into the energon, tracing the rim of the cube, before bringing the digit to his lips and licking off the pink fluid. When no one paid the crazed jet any attention, he huffed a loud sigh and pranced across the floor, swaying his hips in a suggestive manner. Those watching back at the ARK let out shocked noises, finding the scene to be not only disturbing, but rather arousing. Pink energon tipped the broad white wings, and there were noticeable scratches along the jets back. There was also the telltale silver stain between the jets thighs. While the Autobot crew stood mesmerized, Starscream dipped his finger back into the energon but instead of licking it off, he traced the edges of his cockpit.

Bumblebee had the good sense to grab Spike and exit the room before the young human learned more about the Cybertronian anatomy than what was healthy. Spike protested, clearly interested in what was going on, but Bumblebee was vehement. It was a good thing too, because Starscream chose that moment to reload his finger and trace another pattern. And this time he opted for lower regions.

Like a branch bending to the wind, Starscream began to sway, his fingers tracing along his interface cover. The pink energon outlined the promised land as the jet closed his optics and danced around the room like a stoned wallflower. He swayed and bobbed, his digits sneaking to the edges of his interface cover and teasing the latches with delicate ease.

"Primus," several Autobots breathed, transfixed by the jet and his actions.

"Please tell me you're recording this!" Ironhide snapped at Sideswipe. A lecherous grin was his answer.

Starscream slowed his motion, swaying gently from side to side, his fingers intent on their purpose. With a soft click his interface panel retracted, his servo blocking the view as he explored the revealed circuitry. He gasped in surprise, the cube long forgotten in his other servo.

All Autobots, including Prime, were staring transfixed at the screen. Not only was it hard to believe that someone would perform such an intimate act in front of an audience, but add to the fact that it was Starscream who was melting under his own ministrations and there was just something very erotic about the vile little jet pleasuring himself for all to see. A soft whine escaped Starscream's vocalizer, his servo still blocking the view of the camera.

The whine was answered by several Autobots, before they cleared their vocals and tried to regain control of their senses.

Starscream gasped, lurching forward, his frame starting to shudder. And out of no where, Breakdown came hurtling into view. He knocked Starscream down and stood triumphant, hands on hips, head tilted back and chest puffed.

"Fear not, Milady!" Breakdown yelled. There was a strip of red material hanging from his scruff bar. "I shall save you."

"How can I ever repay you?" Starscream asked in a falsetto voice.

"I don't need payment," Breakdown said, looking at something off camera. "Helping a femme is payment enough."

Starscream had barely regained his pedes when Breakdown frowned in the distance and started toward whatever drew his attention. Apparently Starscream wasn't done with the Stunticon. With a feral growl he launched himself on the Lamborghini. Both tumbled out of the picture, their tussle filling the air waves with bangs, clangs, and screeching grunts. Suddenly it was punctuated with a lustful groan, followed by a gasp of pleasure that was soon drown out by panting, mewling cries.

"Can we sell this back home?" Tracks asked, unable to remove his optics from the screen.

"Might be a way to end the war," Sideswipe gave half a shrug. He was rather immune to the lustful pants, having witnessed such scenes before.

The Autobot's lust filled gazes were snapped when Motormaster stormed into view. Snickers went up at the wad of material wrapped around the lower half of the deadly semi. Prime couldn't stop the choked noise that escaped and took several mental pictures. Next time Motormaster decided to provoke a fight, Prime was going to have good fodder for retaliation. It wasn't every day one got to see their enemy sporting a diaper.

"I want Daddy!" Motormaster yelled, stomping his foot.

"Not now," Megatron said, waving a dismissive hand.

"Now!" Motormaster screamed, tensing his frame and emitted high pitched wails to get the attention he wanted.

Wildrider came into view, wrapping his arms around the distraught semi and glaring at Megatron.

"You don't have to be so distant with your son," Wildrider scolded. "He only wants your attention so you can be proud of him."

"I am," Megatron said automatically. It was obvious he wasn't paying attention to the duo in front of him. His hand was stroking Lazerbeak, and the bird was about to fly the coop.

"Well, I know where the soap opera went," Sideswipe snickered, watching as Wildrider tried to consol a crying Motormaster.

Just then, Ramjet came into view, his hands over his face and sounds of muffled crying could be heard. Thrust and Dirge went to their teammate's side, both trying to wrap their arms around him in consolation.

"Get away from me!" Ramjet shouted, shoving both of his trinemates away.

"We didn't mean it," Dirge said, waving between himself and Thrust. "You don't have to terminate. We'll figure something out."

"Neither of you ever loved me!" Ramjet cried out, tears of coolant streaking his face. "You just wanted to berth me, spark me up, and then leave!"

"No! We would never!" Dirge said, giving Thrust a despairing look. "We don't care who the father is."

"As long as it isn't Chad's," Thrust added, his face contorted in disgust.

Ramjet let out a pitiful wail, his trine mates soothing him with words of consolation and their happiness at the impending parenthood.

"Okay, **that** is the soap opera," Sideswipe said, looking between the three mechs before Ramjet cried out about wanting to terminate his apparent pregnancy with the other two chasing after him. "Motormaster and Wildrider must have gotten the chick-flick."

Several Autobots exchanged looks. Sideswipe was going to instate this program…. on them? Oh, the implications and the possibilities were **frightening**!

"We must prepare for an attack," Megatron said, still stroking the irate condor. "Mr. Prime has many devices at his disposal. We must be wise, and outthink our enemy."

"Yes, Megatron," Soundwave said with a soft, feminine lilt.

All Autobots lost the ability to keep their mouths closed. There was the sound of someone's jaw hitting the floor, but it was ignored as every Autobot stared in disbelief.

Soundwave's hands traveled along the Deception leader's shoulders, before trailing over his chest, the cassette-former leaning over to nuzzle along the mech's helm. Soundwave's hands drifted along Megatron's torso, until one disappeared in his lap. Megatron gave a gasping purr, tipping his head back to allow further exploration of his throat. His lip components compressed, followed by a pleasurable cry as his entire body jumped from whatever Soundwave was doing.

Whatever Soundwave was doing frightened Lazerbeak, because with a shattering shriek, the condor broke free of Megatron's grip and skittered across the floor, trying desperately to gain flight. The wings were trembling when the condor finally came to a halt, keeping his back to his master and avoiding further mental scarring.

"Mmm… we… should… mmmm… Prepare for …. An… attack," Megatron managed to say under Soundwave's provocative manipulation. A mewl escaped before he could stop himself and having enough of the foreplay, Megatron grasped Soundwave and pulled him around the throne. His voice was growling as he pulled the tapedeck onto his lap. "We can plan later! I have a minx to satisfy!"

Sideswipe hit the button to black out the feed as the two bots started pawing at each other, the sound of priming interface panels echoing in the silent confines of the ARK's Command Center. The screen went blank. No one spoke. A few cooling fans were running. No one moved. Optics stared at the now lifeless screen in a mixture of horror and arousal, disgust and jealousy.

It was Sideswipe who broke the deafening silence.

"Sorry, guys, I don't think I'm old enough to watch the rest of the feed," he said, feeling rattled. He never saw such drastic emotions with the Cons before. Maybe the program had a glitch and the Cons were suffering from the ill-side effects? Whatever it was, Ratchet must have been thinking along the same lines. He cleared his vocalizer before he spoke.

"Sideswipe, I want a complete copy of that program you wrote," Ratchet said, gathering his wits. "And I want the_ entire_ code, not the random bits and pieces you like to file as a report. I want the program in its entirety and I want you to explain to me **how** you were able to write such a code in the first place." When Sideswipe made no move to comply, Ratchet raised his voice and pointed toward the med bay. "I **said** I want a copy of that code and a complete explanation on its structure! Now!"

Sideswipe jumped from Tele-Tran and lead the way to med bay.

Ironhide looked to Jazz, his voice low as he whispered, "Did you stop the recording?"

"Slag no! I didn't want to miss anything!" Jazz said, turning the screen back on. As images started to come into focus, the bots settled in for the show. The Autobot forces watched in shocked fascination at the reality of insanity unfolding in the enemy camp.

Even Prowl was watching. And no one noticed him take a few notes.

**OOOOO-I-IIIII-000000-OOOOO-IIIIII-0000-OOOOOOO**

All I can say is "Crow's Meow" and I'll leave it at that.

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!

And next week will be another double posting to celebrate the New year and I may take a hiatus. I'm a very tired storyteller.

But reviews help. EG


	62. Sunspots

SUNSPOTS

HAPPY NEW YEARS EVE!

THANK YOU to all reviewers! You're support has been amazing! Here's seeing you in the new year!

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"You there! Grab that mech and assist him to a berth!" a bulky white medic barked to the scattered group of ragtag misfits.

"Busy," a golden mech answered, joisting a red mech against him and half carrying, half dragging him to the indicated berth that was intended for the other patient.

The medic growled oaths that made the only three surviving recruits appraise him with appreciative optics before the medic turned into the Pit Maker.

"He isn't that injured!" the medic roared, soldering off the last sparking line in the chest plates of a green mech. When the vitals registered as stable, the medic went to the duo, rage fueling his voice and his temper.

"Get that mech **off** the berth and put a truly slagged up patient on there or you'll be sent to the smelters," he roared, wrench in hand before anyone could register its presence.

To punctuate the medics words, the wounded mech who should have gotten the berth gave a wheezing grind then keeled over, his optics dark, his armor graying.

"He was already gone," the yellow mech sneered, unafraid of the medical wrath about to fall on his helm. "His spark was already faltering."

"And how would **you** know that?" the white medic fumed, frame tense and painted in the spent lifeblood of his patients.

"I've terminated enough mechs to know the signs," he answered, puffing armor to match his verbal sparring partner.

"So, you think you have a better medical knowledge than a trained professional?" the medic roared, his optics blurring to white as they stared down the navy optics of the golden mech who defied him. Apparently this stranger didn't know who he was up against.

That was soon to change.

The day had started out as any normal day. The Autobots were setting up recruiting stations, keeping them secret and always moving to prevent detection of the Con forces. The convoy was on the way back to Iacon with barely a dozen mechs and femmes who had signed on, when their transport was shot down. Over half of the recruits were terminated in the crash.

Only three mechs and one femme had survived the crash. As they were racing for cover a mech and femme were shot down, their frames crumbling in peaceful surrender. Now, two mechs remained of the original recruits and were close to losing their lives. Just when all seemed lost, out of no where a band of four mechs came in and stormed the Decepticon ranks, killing all but one, who had managed to cloak himself and disappear like fog.

One of the rogue arrivals had taken a shot near the spark chamber, and there was the slim chance he could have been saved. Had it not been for the golden menace now staring down the CMO of the Autobots. **No one** was _that _dumb or suicidal.

Ratchet took a deep inhale, ready to release a tirade that would rent the heavens, but his anger faulted upon noting the two mechs who had lead the rogue band in attacking the Decepticons.

They're build was identical, which was unusual with sparked frames. Most beings opted to alter their frames to suit their personalities and preferences, setting themselves apart from others of the same design. Drones were manufactured in identical frames and never bothered with augmentations and coloring. Their odd demeanor intrigued the Chief Medical Officer.

Ratchet glared at the two mechs sequestered on the medical berth, the red one lulling against the golden frame. Fluids covered both their bodies, and only when the pool beneath the red mech started to grow did Ratchet realize that he was bleeding out. There had been an internal injury hidden beneath the spilled energon from the Cons on the red mech's body.

"He needs medical attention,' came the gruff command for the two to separate. But the golden warrior didn't jump immediately to comply, like so many other terrified mechs. His navy optics zeroed in on the white medic, the gaze hard and cold. He kept his lip components compressed in a line, but a low growl of warning came from deep within his chassis as the white mech approached.

"I'm Ratchet, chief medical officer," the white mech said his scanners jumping to life and scanning the red frame. "It's difficult to examine a patient when there is another close by to interfere with the medical scans. Step aside."

The growl deepened, the golden arm tightened around the lax shoulders. The red mech's head fell to the side, a spark erupting from a rent wire bent from a gaping wound on the mech's shoulder.

"I will not hurt him. I promise,' Ratchet said, taking the bold step of stepping close to the two mechs. His scanners were showing all sorts of odd readings. When he realized the golden menace wasn't going to vacate his position, he added in a stronger tone, "Move your aft or I'll move it for you."

Like a golden flash of lightning in a plasma storm the yellow mech was in front of the medic, his body vibrating with fury. His optics glittered to obsidian. Heat radiated off his body as a nova preparing for its burgeoning crescendo.

"I will not leave my brothers side," he said, his voice a deep bass that rumbled the chest plates of the medic.

Ratchet wasn't deterred. He'd dealt with difficult patients before. And though these two were not under Autobot rules and regulations, they were still injured and required medical care. He was obliged to attend them, whether they wanted his help or not. His codes as a physician wouldn't allow him to walk away while someone needed his expertise.

"I know what I'm doing," Ratchet growled in answer.

"Oh?" the golden warrior said, oblivious to his own sparking and damaged body.

Both stood, nose to nose, staring into each other's optics with pure distrust and loathing. Finally, the medic broke the spell.

"Stand aside and let me see my patient." It was a command, not a request.

"Sunny," a faint voice said, breaking both from their spell.

The yellow mech was at his brothers side in an instant, his hand clasping his brothers and holding it close to his spark.

"I'm here," Sunstreaker said.

"I hurt,' came the raspy reply.

And before Sunstreaker could register the threat, the white medic descended on the duo. Black servos ghosted over the ruby frame, sealing off lines, suturing rent metal and welding patches to weakened areas that kept rupturing. A low growl was the constant music from the yellow mech, who changed the pitch of his growl depending on where the medic was working. Sunstreaker glared, not liking the fact that he was shoved aside like slag and ignored of any protests and rumbles of warning.

Ratchet worked studiously removing blistered armor and soldering off the frayed wires. He dampened the neural receptors, giving the red mech some peace from his pain. Ratchet's hands were a flurry of motion his medical overrides allowing him to act on more instinct and battlefield protocols allowing his mind the opportunity to take in his patient more closely.

There was no denying the signs of abuse on the protoform and the battered armor that bore more whip marks than what seemed to be necessary. There was also evidence of hasty repairs, botched operations, and mediocre medical attention. It was a wonder the mech was still functioning. Error messages scrolled across Ratchet's HUD, confirming his suspicious. The indentation of a slave color still adored both mechs necks was also a dead giveaway.

They were gladiators of the illegal fighting rings.

No wonder they ran into the thick of battle without thought and fought with vicious, bloodthirsty intention.

When the acid green of a scanner erupted over Sideswipe' battered frame, Sunstreaker tensed, poised like a spring ready to erupt. And just as he feared, there came the telltale gasp of understanding.

The medic knew their secret.

"If you say anything," Sunstreaker muttered, his voice as deep as a birthing pulsar.

Ratchet gave the yellow mech a steely gaze, unaffected by the death threat aimed right at his spark. "Sit down, shut up, and allow me to do my job."

Sunstreaker's expression faltered. The normal dark scowl was replaced by shocked surprise, the mood filtered to his twin, who opened one optic to stare at his brother.

It took all of his self control, but he was able to school his features.

"Perhaps you don't know of our reputation," Sunstreaker said, optics narrowed at the mech who had the audacity to be so blunt and hostile with the notorious twin terrors.

NO ONE had ever spoken like that to either twin. At least, no one who still functioned.

"I really don't care," Ratchet said, a wrench his in hand in the blink of an optic. "And **you** apparently don't know about_** my**_ reputation, because anyone with some sense would know better than to slag me off."

Sunstreaker barely had time to register the words before the wrench collided with the side of his helm in a very tender spot. He went crashing to his knees, his senses thrown in a whirlwind of chaos and noise. Sideswipe moved to assist his brother, but pain stopped him short, his face twisting in agony. He fell back on the berth, his body twitching in protest from the attempted movement.

Sideswipe's pain was what Sunstreaker needed to center himself. Sunstreaker rose to his pedes, murder reflected in his optics as he turned in slow motion toward the medic. His spark however was thrumming with adoration.

Sideswipe felt the odd sensation and rubbed his hand over his spark chamber, falling back onto the berth and emitting a strangled gasp from the pain using his plating as a playground. A strong sense of attachment flooded the bond, causing Sideswipe to echo the sentiment toward the white plated stranger.

Thinking the wrench had knocked his senses haywire, Sunstreaker glared at the mech who stood a couple of paces away, unafraid and stoic in the face of certain gold-plated death. He took one step toward the medic, wanting to throttle him into stasis for daring to touch his paint which warred drastically against his desire to congratulate the mech for having such titanium enforced back struts. Sunstreaker's step faltered when he felt a strong sense of affection toward the medic. The sentiment was enough of a distraction to allow Ratchet the chance to snarl before sending another wrench to his opponent, landing it squarely between the golden mech's optics. Sunstreaker emitted a strangled noise as his lack of concentration resulted in a sound knock to the helm that sent his internal systems screaming for an immediate shut down. He fell to the floor without a word of protest.

Sideswipe gasp, feeling the last conscious tendrils of his brother's mind before he slipped into unconsciousness. Admiration flooded Sideswipe's senses, a part of him knowing that he and his brother had just found their temperamental counterpart.

Sideswipe offered a lopsided smile to the glaring ghost of a menace. He shared his brothers sentimentality toward this strange, and yet very resilient mech. It took a lot of ball bearings to stand up to the notorious twins. And it took even more strength to keep their own in check.

Oh yeah, this medic was a good match. A perfect counterbalance for the chaos and uncertainty that scarred their bodies and sparks. And just like a defragmented program that was rendered inoperable due to glitches, Sideswipe felt as if the base line codes were self correcting and putting the world right again.

Strange how it took a violent medic to fix something they believed couldn't be fixed.

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Yea... some Ratchet love! lol Funny it takes a knock to the head to get either twin's attention.

Next chapter tomorrow!

Hope everyone has a Save, Happy, and Prosperous New year! And don't do anything stupid!

Reviews are LOVED and I'm just FLOORED with the amount of positive feedback!


	63. Trouble, Thy Name is Sideswipe

**Trouble, Thy Name is Sideswipe**

Request fic for **Akira Alvina** who wanted to see what mischief Jazz and Sideswipe could inflict on their comrades. So, this is all your fault. Nah!

HAPPY NEW YEAR! I wish the best to all my readers!

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"Sides, I need your help," Jazz said, sidling in beside of the ruby warrior and bumping shoulders with him. Sunstreaker scowled with the casual grace the two displayed toward one another.

"What ever it is, count me out," Sideswipe said, nodding toward his twin. "I have a deal with Sunny."

Sunstreaker's pede collided with Sideswipe's leg under the table, causing the red mech to jump from the impact. Sideswipe ignored the rebuke.

"Well, I can understand you wanting to spend quality time with your brother,' Jazz said, before yelping and rubbing his own leg where Sunstreaker had kicked him. Jazz's visor turned toward the golden mech and found the customary sneer, though right now it was displaying a twisted smirk. "This is important. Trust me."

"I promised Sun..." Sideswipe said before Jazz interrupted.

"I need help pranking Prime," Jazz said, knowing what would get Sideswipe's interest.

"Streaker," Sideswipe finished lamely, his optics going wide, before lighting up, a beaming smile on his face ."What do you need help with?"

Sunstreaker rolled his optics knowing his brother had just been turned to the dark side again. Figures. Sideswipe could rule the underworld. Course knowing him he'd find a way to prank the devil and make a profit.

"Prime hasn't been pranked in awhile and I think it's time he gets a dose," Jazz said, motioning for Sideswipe to lean in close so they could talk. Jazz didn't want to use comms because it could be overheard and it would mean omitting Sunstreaker from the conversation.

Well, Sunstreaker didn't normally engage in conversation but he didn't like it when others excluded him for any reason. If you had something to say, you said it out loud. You didn't communicate with his brother over personal freqs. It was just rude. Sunstreaker beat mechs into the med bay for doing that.

"Well, I happen to know that Prime is terrified of scuttlebugs," Jazz said with a grin.

"There aren't any scuttlebugs on Earth," Sideswipe pointed out, already finding a flaw to Jazz's scheme.

"Well, I found something similar," Jazz said, pulling a small fuzzy lump from subspace.

Scuttlebugs on Cybertron were about the size of a mechs servo and were covered in a feathery, furry, filament, not unlike the sea anemone in Earth's oceans. The little fibers waved through the air, seeking out certain Cybertronian metals and heat from spark casings. Scuttlebugs had been known to warm up a mech and terminate him by trying to bask in the heat of their spark. They were cute, fuzzy, and offered a soft buzz across the sensor net, but appearances were deceiving.

"That's not a scuttlebug," Sideswipe said, looking at the pale brown and white thing in Jazz's servos. If it was a true scuttlebug, Jazz would have been dancing like maniac to get the thing off and terminated before it wanted to give his spark chamber a loving embrace.

"I ordered this from that sci-fi catalogue you got last month," Jazz said, tucking the small furball looking thing back into his subspace. "Something they called, _Trouble_. I think."

"They look like trouble," Sideswipe said, remembering his own single encounter with a scuttlebug.

"Said the poster mech for the title," Sunstreaker quipped, sipping energon and finding the Jazz's new toy to be eerily familiar.

Sideswipe offered a cute look that earned him an annoyed growl.

"What I need from you is a distraction so I can place these in Prime's office," Jazz muttered, his visor glowing a little too bright.

Sideswipe arched an optical ridge. Jazz believed he had what they dubbed a 'poker face', but apparently he misunderstood the definition. He was read as easily as a book.

"What do I get out of it?" Sideswipe asked, sipping his cube and pretending to think it over.

Sunstreaker suppressed the urge to groan, knowing the true meaning behind the happy feelings filtering over their open bond. Primus, it was enough to make him purge. He just knew his twin was loving the idea, regardless of reward or promise. Sideswipe could be talked into quite literally, anything, depending on subject of promised prank.

"I'll distract Prowl and you can have free reign over the next week to do whatever you want," Jazz said, sounding smug and offering an expectant look.

"Two weeks," Sideswipe said, upping the ante like Jazz knew he would. They always bartered. Sometimes they sounded like a couple bargain hunting at a garage sale.

"Deal," Jazz said, holding out his servo and shaking Sideswipe's with a flourish. "And I have the whole thing planned out, so you don't have to worry."

"Oh?" Sideswipe asked, genuinely intrigued. It took cast iron ball bearings to outthink the master planner and present such a blasphemous thing. Sideswipe internally scoffed at Jazz's presumption but heard him out anyway. Besides, if the planned sucked, he could always improvise. He was good at that.

"Prime has been working in his office non-stop all this week," Jazz started, getting excited that Prime was going to get quite the scare. "Someone has been bringing his evening ration and he doesn't leave his office until late."

Sideswipe sipped his cube, his optics narrowing as he recalled Prime's movements over the past week. There was a huge diplomatic meeting between several factions of humans and Prime had offered to mediate their negotiations. The meeting was scheduled for next week, so Prime had been locked away in his office, 'studying', as he put it.

"This evening, you will take him his ration," Jazz said, nodding toward Sideswipe's subspace pockets before adding, "And I know you carry knock out mixtures with you at all times."

Sideswipe offered a grin in answer. Sunstreaker sighed in the background, downing his energon and feeling that happy, giddy feeling overtake his senses. This whole fiasco was going to be a huge mess. And Sideswipe would once again get stuck with the blame. Primus, his brother could be such an idiot.

"You dose him up with one of the quick nap time doses," Jazz explained. "Then when he falls to charge, I'll sneak in and plant the _scuttlebugs_ in his office."

Sideswipe offered a slow nod in agreement. The plan sounded good, definitely workable, and with Sideswipe's vast knowledge of chemical additives and subterfuge, there was a high probability this would work. He offered a snicker, making the note that he sounded like Prowl.

Sunstreaker rolled his optics and leaned back in his chair, staring morosely in the distance. This was going to be such a disaster. But good luck telling Sideswipe that.

"He'll wake up, see the _bugs_, freak out, and we'll have a good laugh," Jazz said, quirky grin firmly in place and giving him a crazed joker aspect.

Sideswipe thought for a moment, his hand rubbing his chin, his head slow to nod in agreement. As an afterthought he turned to his twin and asked, "What do you think, Sunny?"

"I think this is a bad idea. Prowl will throw both of you in the brig and Prime will more than likely order your joint execution,' Sunstreaker said, pushing himself from the table and standing. "And you can count me out of your idiocy."

Without another word Sunstreaker left. Sideswipe frowned, sending his twin an annoyed sensation that was returned ten-fold. Well, if Sunstreaker wanted to opt out on what promised to be a colossal prank, then let him sit on the sidelines. Let the devious mechs work their magic and allow the other, unsuspecting bots, to have a good laugh.

That evening, just as planned, Sideswipe met Jazz in the rec room. Several mechs were milling about as Jazz filled two cubes, one for Prime and one for himself. He turned, spotted Sideswipe and enacted their diabolical scheme.

"Hey, Sides!" Jazz yelled, earning a few turned helms. "Mind taking the Boss Bot his ration for me tonight?"

"Sure," Sideswipe said, pretending to sigh and weaving his way through the crowd. When the cube was handed to him, the small, unobtrusive lever flicked along his wrist and dumped the perfectly measured portion of sleep additive into the mix.

The additive was carefully measured, taking in Prime's weight, frame, and tolerance. Since Sideswipe had previously drugged every person on base several times, he knew the right concoction for each mech. Prime would get a few moments of charge, fifteen minutes at the most, then would come out of his stupor none the wiser.

Sideswipe passed Prowl on the way out the door, saluting the tactician with the cube and calling, "It's for Prime," before disappearing through the door.

Jazz waved at the tactician, motioning for him to take their regular seat, when he called, "I'll be right back, Prowl. Forgot the tape Blaster wanted to play this evening."

Prowl nodded, taking a place at the dispenser and filling a cube. He walked to the regular table he shared with the sneaky saboteur and saw Blaster already assembling his music arrangement. Jazz returned a couple moments later, tossed a cassette to Blaster, then joined Prowl, grabbing his abandoned cube from the table and taking a drink.

"So, what's happening?" Jazz asked, propping his pedes up on the chair opposite.

Prowl scowled but didn't comment. Jazz never listened anyway. Sideswipe came in, followed by his twin, and the duo went to the dispenser. Sunstreaker looked unusually surly this evening, turning his back on his brother and stomping from the room. Prowl watched the golden frame disappear, his processor already calculating the twins' actions. According to his battle computer, Sideswipe had been idle for 9 days. Not good odds. He couldn't go too long without pulling a stunt. It just wasn't in his nature. Add the fact that Sunstreaker was more standoffish then normal, which was a symptom of Sideswipe either staying up late conniving, or trying to finagle his twin into something devious. All factors lead to an eruption, and probably within the next couple of days.

Prowl was pulled from his musings by Jazz, who nudged him and gave him an expectant look.

"What?" Prowl asked, unsure to Jazz's motives.

"I asked if you locked up," Jazz said, waving his servo in front of his friend's face. "You were just staring off into space and not responding to anyone."

"Who was I supposed to respond to?" Prowl asked, sipping his energon to cover his blunder.

"Well, Mirage and Bee said hello to you, but you just ignored them," Jazz said, frowning at the tell tale sign of twitching doorwing. Jazz's optical band brightened, "You were thinking about the twins."

"What makes you say that?" Prowl asked, taking another sip and feeling it light up his analytical plates with fervor.

"I don't know….. You get this…" Jazz started, but his speech was cut short when there came a high pitched shriek.

Every mech froze into place, the noise hitting such a decibel that audios fritzed and filled with static. The sound was long, drawn, and tortured. As soon as the sound stopped, it reinstated, causing all mechs to jump into action. That pitch. That unnerving decibel. The calling screech. A femme was in distress! All males instantly reacted to it. Prowl was out the door before most mechs regained their senses, their bodies slow to respond to the terrifying call for assistance. Jazz, and Ironhide were right behind the tactician, using him as a guiding rod toward the object of distress. Sideswipe came barreling after the officers, demanding to know what was going on. Several other mechs were trailing behind, ready to provide backup if the necessity arose.

All four mechs raced toward the screaming, and with some trepidation, they turned as one unit toward a hall that held one single office.

Prime.

Prowl raced to the door, throwing it open just in time to see Optimus Prime scream again and pull his blaster into his fumbling hands just before he shot his desk. The shot ricocheted off the desk and hit an illumination bank, casting half the room into darkness. Prime let loose a barrage of fire at the three small fuzzy lumps on his desk, all the while supplying a neverending stream of ultrasonic shrieks. Prowl ducked a shot and pulled out his acid pellet rifle, firing one shot and melting half of Prime's desk. It sagged on the side, two of the little tufted terrors blending into the molten metal and dotting its hellfire surface. When the perceived threat was over, Prime extricated himself from the wall, leaving behind a sizable dent in his wake. He approached his desk with hesitancy, Prowl mirroring his actions on the opposite side.

"What was that?" Prowl asked, staring at the white and brown lump.

"It was a scuttlebug," Prime said, staring at a furry creature now melting into the metal of the desk. A datapad slid into the molten mass, its screen flaring before burning into darkness.

"Scuttlebugs do not exist on Earth," Prowl said, taking the bold step of grabbing the only remaining piece of evidence. He held up the small fuzzy looking 'creature', his optics scanning for signs of life. When it was obvious there was no danger, Prowl turned accusing optics to the ruby warrior standing in the hall with wide optics.

"Sideswipe," Prowl growled, glaring daggers at the now stunned Lamborghini. "Can you explain this?"

"I don't know what that is," Sideswipe said truthfully.

"You are responsible for this," Prowl said, redirecting everyone's attention to himself and away from the still shaken Prime.

"It wasn't me," Sideswipe said, giving his most innocent, and overused, expression. "I didn't put those things in there."

"This little joke has your servo prints all over it," Prowl said, brandishing the fuzzy ball that had been the center of the turmoil.

"I _didn't _do this," Sideswipe said, cringing when the false scuttlebug was waved in his direction.

"You've ordered something to set up this little prank," Prowl continued, now looking murderous. It was amazing what was displayed by those ever expressive doorwings. Right now they were rigid and pointing in a sharp 'V' that looked rather painful. Prowl didn't seem to mind though. He advanced on his prey, ready to dish out some good old fashioned justice.

"I haven't received any packages in the last two weeks. Check for yourself," Sideswipe said in defense, though he did take half a step back.

"You could have been holding onto the object in question for an unspecified amount of time until you were able to pull off your prank," Prowl said, halting his advance, his battle computer running over permutations.

"You know me," Sideswipe said with an incredulous look. "I don't have that kind of self control."

"You're right," Prowl said, earning an agreeing nod from Sideswipe before he frowned at his own slight. "You don't have any self control and would instigate your prank as soon as you had all the necessary components."

"Primus, I never thought you could make a joke sound so dull," Sideswipe sneered, hoping to regain some of his credibility.

Prowl ignored the ruby warrior. Instead, his attention was focused on Red Alerts report on incoming mail and sure enough, Sideswipe had not received any packages for almost a month. But his attention was caught by a side note that Red Alert had the foresight to add.

Jazz had received a package from a sci fi store within the last twenty-four hours.

Prowl turned his murderous gaze from the innocent Lamborghini to the still smiling Porsche.

"Jazz, care to explain _how_ this got in Prime's office?" Prowl asked, crosschecking the singed object against a database and finding it to be a harmless television prop.

"No idea," Jazz said, that customary smile lighting up his face in a roguish, handsome way.

Unknown to the assembled bots, Prowl had been in communiqué with Red Alert, getting the video footage of the last hour inspected. Red Alert's report confirmed Sideswipe's visit with an energon cube. And as expected, he left empty-handed, disappearing down the hall. Ten seconds later, the camera was tilted upward, away from Prime's office door. The sound of the door opening and closing could be easily heard, and Sideswipe would have continued getting the blame, had it not been for the soft humming.

Jazz's downfall had been his favorite song from the recent top hits on the chart. A song he had Blaster to play every evening and whistled when he was working. No one else would have been indulging in music at such a critical point.

Prowl looked between the two, knowing they were in on it together.

"Both of you, to the brig," Prowl said.

Sideswipe instantly started to protest his innocence. Jazz barked out a laugh, folding his arms across his chassis in defiance. He was an officer. He didn't have to go to the brig if he didn't want to. Prowl couldn't make him.

"Given the evidence and past history, I surmise that Sideswipe slipped something into Prime's energon and while he was unconscious, you enacted your nefarious plot," Prowl stated, knowing the scenario as the pieces to the puzzle fell perfectly into place.

"But, Prime was charging when I dropped off his cube," Sideswipe interrupted.

"No, I wasn't,' Prime said, his fuel pump returning to normal now that he understand the nature of the prank. "I distinctly remember you handing me the cube and telling me to fuel up before Ratchet gets involved."

"Oh yeah. Well, That was for your own health," Sideswipe said, giving the Prime a look. "You know what the Hatchet's like when we ignore our health."

Everyone gave a nod at that. They couldn't argue with those facts.

"And given the evidence, or lack of evidence of my involvement, I am completely innocent in this," Sideswipe said, pointing a finger at Prowl and earning a narrowed optic. "I dropped off the cube that Jazz asked… me… to…."

Sideswipe trailed off, his voice going soft as if realization had just dawned. Prowl caught it too. He turned hardened optics toward the Special Ops agent.

"Jazz, brig," Prowl said, nodding in the direction the saboteur was supposed to march.

Jazz smirked, arms still folded, his hip cocking to the side in nonchalance.

"I'm not going to the brig for a crime I didn't commit," Jazz said evenly.

"Video confirms you handed Sideswipe a cube in the rec room, with witnesses, and that Sideswipe delivered the cube," Prowl said, reciting his evidence. "One minute later you turned the security camera away from Prime's office and slipped inside, already knowing he'd be unconscious. When you left, you were humming your favorite song."

Prowl frowned, searching for the lyrics and spoke the band and song title. Jazz's stunned look was his answer.

"You are to spend the next three days in the brig," Prowl said, snapping his finger toward the hall that lead to the brig.

"It was Sideswipe who drugged Prime," Jazz said, jerking his head toward the ruby warrior who had been watching the scene with amusement, hidden behind a mask of shocked confusion. "He took the cube, drugged it, dropped it off, and told me to set up Prime!"

"I did no such thing!" Sideswipe yelled, turning wide optics to Prowl. "I had no idea what Jazz was going to do, or else I wouldn't have given him that tainted energon! You have to believe me!"

"I believe you," Prowl said, wincing a little from Sideswipe's volume.

"You… you do?" Sideswipe asked, his voice softening in his confusion. "Why?"

"The evidence points to Jazz," Prowl said, nodding toward the guilty party. "I believe that you didn't know Jazz had altered the energon and were trying to obey orders given by a ranking officer. For once, you were an innocent bystander." Prowl rolled his optics skyward and added, "I never believed it possible."

"I'm not going," Jazz repeated, still giving his serene, playful look.

"Jazz," Prime's commanding voice broke through the atmosphere. "Prowl is the Second In Command. Your immediate superior and the warden of our Army. You will obey his direct orders or you will have your own rank stripped."

Jazz stood stunned, not at Prime's words but at his tone. He must have been really scared to be so drastic in his rebuke.

"Scuttlebugs are nothing to joke about," Prime said, nodding to the inert furball still clutched in Prowl's servo. "When I was a dockworker, a friend of mine dropped a box, unknowingly filled with scuttlebugs for sale on the black market. He was terminated, along with two others who tried to assist him." Prime's voice dropped to a low, threatening rumble as he repeated with disgust. "They are _nothing_ to joke about."

"Sorry, Prime," Jazz said in all sincerity. "I really didn't mean to scare you that bad. I just thought you needed a little laugh."

"Nothing jovial about scuttlebugs," Prime said, his optics transfixed on Prowl's clutching servo. He turned his attention to Jazz and added, "In the future, I suggest you stick to knock, knock jokes."

Properly chastised, Jazz bowed his head. Prowl grabbed the other black and white by the arm and spun him around, adding a little pressure to remind him that he was to be confined for three days for this little stunt. Jazz relinquished his control and allowed Prowl to steer him toward the brig. He wasn't going to go willingly. It was going to take some maneuvering from Prowl.

As the duo passed by Sideswipe, Jazz caught a glimpse of Sideswipe's slightly quirked lip and the gleam of mischief in his optics. Jazz offered a low growl in warning, reminding the ruby Lamborghini that he may have gotten out of punishment detail this time, but Jazz would make sure he paid. No one set up Jazz and escaped unscathed. Justice would be carefully planned and executed, and this time, there would be NO incriminating evidence.

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And before anyone asks for a follow up, I currently have 27 pages of ideas and 19 requests left to go. So, no more requests until I can get them down to single digits again. Some of these requests are months old and I don't want the people requesting them to feel ignored. I can only write so much at a time and sometimes the muse just doesn't want to cooperate. Your understanding is appreciated.

Love to all-

one very drained author


	64. A Foul Sun Cometh

A Foul Sun Cometh

AN: Thank you ALL for your wonderful reviews. I have just been overwhelmed by the positive feedback that has been left. As always, its appreciated far more than words can say.

**000-IIIII-OOOOOOOO-00000-IIIIIIIIII-OOOOOOOOOOO**

"And your tactics against the cons last battle, though unorthodox, are to be commended," Prowl was saying, his optics as ever engrossed on a datapad. His fingers typed a few keys, highlighting notes in the officers logs. "If you have the time I wish to ask your opinion of how we may incorporate your more elaborate, damage inflicting moves. Then, if your are amicable, we may have training sessions so you may instruct the others in self defense."

"If you think that's wise," Sunstreaker said, not liking the idea of being the center of attention in a class. The idea of pummeling his teammates (all in the name of progress and honing skills) was an idea that tingled his relays.

"Yes, I do believe we could incorporate a few moves," Prowl said, his datapad showing Sunstreaker's image captured by some unknown photographer in a series of moves that left his opponent sparking and bleeding in his wake. Sunstreaker glanced to the datapad, wondering who had captured such perfect details, but was quickly lost in the perfection of the frame that glowed like the planets only sun. Slag. He was gorgeous. Even when fighting, he was beautiful to look at. It's a wonder his opponents simply didn't lay down their weapons and stare in awe as he approached.

"I will of course lessen your monitor duty and cleaning detail to compensate for the time you will be instructing others on your techniques." Prowl said, knowing the golden Lamborghini hated such menial duties.

"Sounds great to me," Sunstreaker said, knowing he had a hectic schedule upcoming that involved a lot of monitor staring and solvents.

Prowl continued toward his office, his battle computer already formulating the best possible schedule to allow Sunstreaker the chance to teach some defensive moves. The SICs door was at the far end of the corridor, looming innocently in the distance, watching its two arrivals.

"We may need to hone a few moves, but I believe that with…." Prowl said, but Sunstreaker wasn't paying attention. He slowed his step, his gaze sweeping the hall.

Something felt… off.

Prowl was a full step ahead, still babbling about modifying fighting techniques, when Sunstreaker heard the unmistakable sound of a clever disguise. It was a sound of trouble.

_Grind_

_Click_

**BOOM!**

Silence filled the hall for a full ten seconds.

"SIDESWIPE!" Prowl yelled, trembling as his vision was obscured by very sticky multicolored feathers.

Sunstreaker had jumped to the wall as the last possible second. Years of fighting for ones life had honed his skills of self preservation into a razors edge. It took very look little provocation for him to immediately revert back to his ingrain instincts. Most of the multicolored feathers missed the golden twin. Most, but not all.

Every feather that stuck to Sunstreaker was a canary yellow. He glanced to the obscene decorations, smirking when he realized the color choice that gravitated toward him. Didn't matter the substance… if it was yellow, it would inevitably find its way to Sunstreaker's immaculate body.

"SIDESWIPE!" Prowl repeated, doorwings fluttering in an effort to rid themselves of the offending substances. The action only made the SIC resemble a very pissed off parrot.

"Yeah?" came the timid voice of the guilty frontliner over the ship's comms.

"Brig!" Prowl shouted

"Yeah, right," Sideswipe laughed over the speakers. No doubt he was hiding somewhere where he knew he was safe and Prowl couldn't find him. He didn't take chances when it came to pranking the Praxian. Technically since he was off duty, and his prank had not caused physical harm, he wasn't breaking any of the rules. "I won't go without a fight!"

"Allow me," Sunstreaker said, detaching from the wall, a spray of multicolored feathers leaving a shadowed halo where he stood.

Prowl gave one nod in affirmation before adding, "Just don't terminate him. You have a class to teach later this week and I want you alive and able to teach it."

"Won't be a problem," Sunstreaker muttered, using his senses to detect his twin's whereabouts.

Prowl scrubbed at his face, making a myriad of color appear before his vision. He may have been partially blinded from the sticky feathers, but he could see Sunstreaker's quiet determination as he turned in slow motion to zero in on his twin's location. When the frontliner turned and marched down the hall, yellow feathers fell from his aft, making it look like a molting duck wandering the base.

Sunstreaker used his twins unique spark signature to hone in on him hiding in a storage closet on the lowest level of the ship. Pedes silent, Sunstreaker crept down the hall, sensing the broadcasting signal that only he could detect. He had to concentrate to mute his own spark beat, lest he give his brother a heads-up and an opportunity to escape. He opened the door to yelling protests, Sideswipe's voice filtering throughout the base before ending in a strangled scream.

When Sideswipe awoke from his brothers' beating, it was to find himself in an elevated position. He let out a startled cry at the realization that he was suspended above the floor. Bots were looking up at him with smirks and downright sadistic looks.

"Hey, this isn't funny!" Sideswipe yelled at the mechs _far _below him. Primus, he didn't realize how high the ceiling was in the ARK. He looked around the room and found that it was the main training center for the Autobot crew.

"Odd, it was funny when you glued Bumblebee to the ceiling last month," Powerglide chided, having been the one that had to get the frightened minibot down from the considerable height. Minibots didn't like heights. Sideswipe knew this. He still thought it was hilarious.

"Or when you glued Ratchet's tools to the ceiling a week ago," Wheeljack added, his head fins flashing an array of pretty colors with his mirth. "Or **my** tools the week before that. Perceptor's datapads. Prowl's datapads. Grapple's schematics. Blaster to the overhead speakers."

"You forgot me,' Gears added with a gruff voice, his arms crossed and scowl on his face. "What he glued onto me."

"That zucchini was completely harmless!" Sideswipe snapped in self defense.

"Not on an interface panel!" Gears yelled, brandishing his fist at the mech who dared glue a vegetable onto the minibots interface panel. "That glue wasn't compatible with organic substances!"

"Oh, that was hilarious," Sideswipe scoffed. When he noticed Gears' irate look he added with a scathing jibe, "It gave you an idea of what a _regular_ sized mech is **packing**."

Gears' fuming was cut short as Prowl entered the room, his attention drawn to a datapad.

"Prowl!" Sideswipe yelled, getting the SIC's attention. "Someone glued me to the ceiling!"

Prowl looked up, his optics raking over the ruby form. He gave a nod, "So it appears."

"Get me down!" Sideswipe screamed, trying to flail and only causing his structure to groan in protest as the adhesive kept him immobile. He was glued from shoulders to pedes, his helm and hands the only thing that wasn't secured via Sideswipe's favorite glue.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Prowl said, subspacing the datapad and looking at the group of Autobots. "And all of you are under strict orders not to facilitate Sideswipe's escape."

"No problem."

"Don't care."

"Fine by me," came the chorus of expressions.

"Teach that fragger," Gears said, sending a hateful glare skyward. The look was returned, tenfold.

"This is a direct violation of that code thing you always spout at me," Sideswipe said, barely able to move his hand to gesture toward the black and white officer. "This is against the rules, as you have repeated to me so many times."

"Exactly why this is a befitting form of punishment," Prowl said with a neutral expression. "You refuse to listen. You continue to break the rules. Your pranks become your own punishment."

Sideswipe's mouth hung open in shock. He allowed his head to hang forward, his chin bumping his chest. And with the action, noticed the full presentation of his predicament.

"Oh slag!" Sideswipe screamed upon viewing his person.

Every inch was covered in multicolored feathers. The same feathers he used to decorate the SIC and inadvertently, his twin. And it wasn't the ceiling that he was mounted to like a colorful display of a rare specimen. It was a training drone.

An **aerial** training drone.

It was still attached to its housing unit, gaining charge and awaiting the set command codes from someone who wished to train with moving targets. The metal was cool against Sideswipe's back.

Just when Sideswipe thought it couldn't get any worse, in walked Sunstreaker. He swaggered inside the training room, a definite bounce to his step and to everyone's astonishment, a wide, friendly smile. Several mechs thought the Pit Maker had just taken physical form.

"Sunny!" Sideswipe called, hoping to gain his brother's ire. When Sunstreaker decided to enact retribution, he did so with complete lack of control and total annihilation. If he knew who did this to his brother, his vengeance would be swift. The corpse wouldn't be recognizable. "Sunny! Help me!"

Sunstreaker turned his handsome face toward his brother-drone.

"I'm sorry, Sides, I can't do that," Sunstreaker said with an air of politeness that didn't fit with his normal demeanor.

Sideswipe felt his fuel pump falter. There was a giddiness in his spark that usually came from him, not Sunstreaker. Something was amiss. Sunstreaker shouldn't be feeling such positive emotions. And the look Sunstreaker wore…. It was unnatural! Sideswipe's fear doubled when Sunstreaker turned to the room at large and addressed the assembled mechs.

"Ready?" Sunstreaker called, his voice strong and vibrant.

"Ready!" the Autobots called back.

Much to Sideswipe's horror, each mech hoisted a pulse rifle in their hands. Sideswipe felt his spark clench, a sinking feeling threatening to perform like a black hole and suck him in. The pulse rifles wouldn't kill. They just struck with enough electrical force to send a bot reeling into next week. It was like trying to suck on a live wire while swimming in the ocean.

Sideswipe's fear increased when he felt the training drone at his back hum to life.

"Oh, slag," Sideswipe muttered, hearing the beeps and clicks of an uploading program.

Sideswipe let loose a tirade that would have made Ratchet proud as the drone disengaged from its anchor and started to zoom around the room. He looked to his brother, abject fear and panic flooding the bond in drowning waves that only increased when he watched his twin.

Sunstreaker turned, staring at the brightly colored training drone that carried his brother. His face lit up in a delightful sneer as he cocked his rifle, taking a step into the room and calling to the mechs at large.

"Come on, mechs! Shoot the birdie!"

Sideswipe squawked, screamed, and cried out like a tortured parrot.

And all the while Prowl leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed over his chassis, a placid look on his face as he watched the Autobots run around the training room trying to shoot a cursing bird.

**000-IIIII-OOOOOOOO-00000-IIIIIIIIII-OOOOOOOOOOO**

Reviews would be loved, as always.

On another note, I'm taking a week off to rest up and recharge my batteries. I have been doing a LOT of writing lately and sitting for so long has caused even more back issues than normal. So there will NOT be any posting for this fic next Tuesday. I just have far too much plaguing me at the moment and I just need to take a breath. I will be back to posting on January 22nd. While I'm on sabbatical I will be working on the sequel to "Aby of Darkness" titled "And Together, We Rise". Currently its sitting in at LEAST a dozen locations and has yet to be given any form of structure. Also, I have a few ideas for little one shots I want to take time to sit and think on.

I shall be back and I hope y'all stick with me!


	65. Codename: Dark Side

**Codename: Dark Side**

Did ya miss me?

Request fic for **Tiamat1972** who simply said "Secret Agent Mech". I TRIED to get these two to separate but they wouldn't, so I had to just roll with it. And Jazz just had to make an appearance. I hope its up to your expectations.

AN: Due to family issues I wasn't able to get as much done as I had hoped, but I did make _some_ progress. I'm going to get requests done, maybe intertwine them with a few of my own chapters, but to remind ya'll, NO, I'm not taking requests at the moment. I wanna get at least 10 of them GONE before I even _consider_ opening up that hell's gate.

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"So… what? You lose your forces and think you can pluck just _anyone_ off the front line?" Sideswipe asked.

"No, I asked Prime for someone ruthless and who can make a lot of noise, cause some damage, and communicate without words. "Jazz said, his disarming and charming smile turning predatory. "And we both immediately thought of you two."

"Joy," Sunstreaker muttered.

"I have a mission but I can't trust just anyone,' Jazz said, all charm and charisma gone. Now, there was a straight laced, by the book soldier ready to do what was necessary. Both twins instantly perked. "I need to infiltrate a Con stronghold and hack into the systems of a certain mech. Can you help me?"

"Depends," Sideswipe said, crossing arms over his chest and looking at Jazz with a leering sneer. "What do we get out of it?"

"When I'm done, you can burn the place down," Jazz promised. "I don't want evidence or survivors. " Jazz paused, looking at both twins in the optics before adding, "And Prime need not know of the fact."

"Deal," Sunstreaker said, his optics glowing a little brighter and giving him a handsome, terrifying look.

Jazz nodded. "You'll have to be refitted. You attract too much attention with those colors."

"No problem,' Sideswipe shrugged, noting how his ruby armor shone like a precious gem. Slag, he was beautiful.

But, if the mission was as dangerous as Jazz hinted it could be, then he didn't want to put any scratches on the paint. Sunstreaker just smoothed his finish and it would be a shame to ruin it so soon after application. And he knew his twin would be reluctant to scratch his own brilliant shine.

"Ratchet can deal with the refit," Sunstreaker said, knowing good and well he wasn't going to go into a situation and get himself scuffed. He was running low on his color.

"You don't have a problem with it?" Jazz asked, genuinely curious. He knew both were rather vogie, and figured they'd protest to the alternation of their physical characteristics.

"When do you want to leave?" Sideswipe asked.

"After change of third rotation tomorrow," Jazz said, sending a data packet with all the information the twins needed to know for the mission. "That should give you enough time to reformat and do any extra preparations."

"No problem," Sunstreaker said, heading out the door without a word of dismissal from his senior officer. Sideswipe smirked and followed, leaving a perturbed Jazz behind, wondering what he just agreed to. The twins were notorious for not following the rules and acting rashly. But they were also the only ones with the displayed skills to assist Jazz, considering his current team was all under quarantine.

Jazz retired early, and made sure to appear busy through the next day. He was seen coming and going from his office several times, no one realizing he was charging during private time. When others bade each other a good charge and headed off to their berths, Jazz went to the rendezvous point, hoping he didn't see a familiar flash of red and yellow. Jazz waited in the shadows, expecting either twin to exit the main compound but to his utter amazement they materialized _behind_ him, out of the shadows. He allowed a small squeak of joints as the only sign of his temporary fear.

"Jazz," Sunstreaker said in a soft tone that sounded like a decompressing hiss.

"Sunstreaker?" Jazz gapped, staring at sleek, black plated mech. The heavier golden armor was replaced with a thinner, lighter alloy that allowed a wider range of flexibility. Beside of Sunstreaker stood Sideswipe, a perfect mirror image, minus the ornamental finials that Sunstreaker always used to maintain his internal temp. Though he preferred them wider and accented in gold, the new slats were more compact and painted with an alteration of slick and matte black paint. Though both mechs were nearly a head taller than Jazz, the new streamlined look made them appear smaller. Jazz suddenly felt very bulky.

"Shall we?" Sideswipe asked in the same tone of depressurizing hydraulics.

The trio transformed, Jazz feeling that underlying current of excitement that flowed from the trim frames that flanked him. Though the notorious duo was a full head taller, their streamlined reformatted bodies made Jazz look larger and cumbersome. Now they were sleek, faster, and even more deadly. If possible. Though Jazz had the training and the resume of extensive sabotage and infiltration, he felt like a rookie soldier.

Jazz's own plating was muted, the white paint covered with a matte copper finish to allow him to blend into his surroundings

As silent shadows they exited the Autobot stronghold, their destination on the outskirts of the city.

'**We will have to maintain radio silence as much as possible in case of telepathic guards,'** Jazz said over comms.

'**Won't be a problem,'** Sunstreaker said, edging out a little as if racing the others to the promise of explosion and destruction. **'Just stay out of our way.'**

'**I need the lead scientist, Hiltor, functioning,' **Jazz said, sending a data packet with the scientist's full description. **'He has information I need.'**

'**You will get him,'** Sideswipe promised. When the trio left Iacon, they muffled their engines masking their approach from unsavory types who would delay them. The outskirts were notorious for rampant neutrals that were too afraid to fight but not scared enough to attack a lone bot or two in the hopes of draining them of energon and scavenging their bodies for parts.

The trio traveled in darkness, the terrain becoming more inhospitable. The few scattered bots that lined the street looking for a handout skittered out the way, knowing they'd be run over without hesitation. If one stopped to check on an injured local, then they became a target by those still functioning.

A spire of black jutted into the sky, the surroundings dark and foreboding. Jazz transformed, the twins following, and as a well practiced unit they slipped past the few guards and into the stronghold with surprising ease.

Jazz turned to give instructions but found only Sideswipe behind him. The previously ruby mech gave a slight incline of his head in answer and held out his arm in invitation for Jazz to lead the way. Not bothering to ask where Sunstreaker had wandered to, Jazz brought up the mental schematics for the building that had been collected from previous infiltrations. He thanked Primus that both twins were silent as himself, and if Sunstreaker's sudden departure was any indication, both were just as adept at infiltration and sabotage as Jazz believed them to be.

So caught up in the perfect companions for his mission, Jazz almost missed the faint spark signatures coming from around the corner. Sideswipe grasped Jazz, pulling him flush against his body and pinning him against the wall. His arms went up beside Jazz's helm, Sideswipe's navy optics reflected back the smoky optical band that hovered just inches away from his face. Several mechs passed, deep in conversation and two laughing behind their superior's backs. They went past the duo.

When the mechs disappeared Sideswipe withdrew, giving Jazz freedom. Without a word they went the direction the mechs had come, their pedefalls making no sound. It was then that Jazz realized Sideswipe's plating offered not only camouflage in the darkness but it also resembled a series of pipes and machinery that one would find supporting a wall or maybe left for removal by a work crew. Jazz caught glimpses of Sideswipe's armor and noted how the lines looked smooth and made his own frame look bulky, but they served the dual purpose of providing a great camouflage that all bases, regardless of faction, housed among their heavy equipment. Jazz was just glad that no one looked too closely and recognized dampened spark signatures.

Sideswipe followed close behind, allowing Jazz the lead through the labyrinthine base. Most bots were easily avoided, but when there was no where to go, nor shelter close by, Sideswipe enacted as the camouflage and covered Jazz, using the saboteurs own unique plating to resembled a jumble mass of scientific equipment. When they got to their destination, Jazz spoke, breaking their radio silence.

'**He should be in here this is the main lab,' **Jazz said over comms. **'Remember, I need him alive.'**

Sideswipe offered a simple dip of his head in acknowledgement. Jazz took the face off the control box and hot wired it, allowing the circuits to become confused and opening the doors to the invaders. When they swished aside, Sideswipe went through the door as a specter of death.

Jazz followed and couldn't stop the intake of surprise to see Sideswipe grasp the neck one mech and give it a twist, pulling the head completely free from its body. Without pause he turned, dancing between two mechs, blades extended from his forearms. One blade went into the throat of one of the mechs, who gave a static filled cry before a hefty wrench of the blade severed his head. His torso joined the first victim, both twitching in death as their vital fluids seeped from their bodies. The third mech received a quick, precise stab of the blade through his spark chamber. Without a sound the third body joined the other two.

The attack lasted mere seconds, Sideswipe already on the move toward the last mech who occupied the room.

It was the lead scientist. He was captured before he collected his wits, his crimson optics staring into the navy that hovered in his vision. Before he could call out for help, Sideswipe had struck, severing the main motor functions that allowed the bot mobility and the chance to escape. As he gaped, unable to make his numb body cooperate, Sideswipe stepped behind him and grasps his arms, pinning them behind his back and presenting him as tribute to his partner.

Jazz felt a thrum of pride at seeing Sideswipe in action. His talents were wasted on the frontlines.

Sunstreaker slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. He stood stationed by the door, a statue of darkness, watching the proceedings.

"I need some information," Jazz said, keeping his voice soft as he approached his prey.

"The Autobots have codes, preventing you from harming me," Hiltor said. His face shone with a triumphant sneer.

"True," Jazz stat, his tone calm and unhurried. "But tonight, I am not Autobot. I am a mech in need of information. Information that you are going to divulge to me."

"And if I don't?" Hiltor taunted. His effect was lost due to the fact that he had only control over his helm. The rest of his body was divested from him by Sideswipe's thoughtful strike.

"I'll get the codes if you talk or not," Jazz said, giving a partial shrug. "Either way I get them. It's up to you how you want to proceed."

"No one can hack me," Hiltor taunted jeered, his chin lifting in defiance. "I wrote the program myself. **No one** can break it."

"Speak now and end your suffering and possibly live," Jazz said, noting how Sideswipe arched a brow ridge, not agreeing with the releasing of his captive. "Or the hard way. Either way, we get your information and leave."

"I will give you nothing," Hiltor snarled, knowing the three intruders would never hack his cortex.

"Don't really need your consent," Jazz said. His tone wasn't intimidating. It was cold, calculated, distant. He was here for one single purpose. Nothing else mattered.

"You Autobots, think your better than cons when you do things that we cons find repulsive," Hiltor said, hoping to appeal to the weak spark fools of his enemy.

"Don't really care what you or your friends think," Jazz offered, removing a hard-line connection from his wrist. "I do what is necessary to get the information that allows me to keep my friends safe and return home without casualties."

"You're no different than a con," Hiltor said, wanting to fight for his release but having his body to remain immobile.

"There is a difference," Jazz said with a flat tone, hooking the hard-line connection into the neck port. "I take no pleasure in this."

Being unable to move, Hiltor could only smirk as he felt Jazz slam into his firewalls.

"You wont be able to get a round my anti hacking programs,' Hiltor leered. "I designed them myself. If I don't want you in, you don't get into my head."

"Don't need an invitation," Jazz muttered, darkening his visor as he concentrated on the firewalls. He tuned everything out, concentrating on the multilayered encryption program built into the firewall that protected precious systems. Mainly the ones for memory and secretive data. It was like putting up a red flag and waving it in a spot light to gain attention.

Hiltor chuckled, in an eerie, sinister laugh that made energon run cold and spinal struts freeze with ice. Well, for normal mechs.

It did nothing for Jazz or the twins.

All three looked unimpressed, Sunstreaker looking more murderous than frightened.

Jazz concentrated on finding certain overrides knowing that all bots, regardless of faction, have the same inherent coding. Finding that simple strand of code was all that was needed for Jazz to unlock the mech's cortex. The sinister laugh melted into something sputtering and torturous, violated and scared. Little whimpers that didn't register to the other audios in the room.

Hiltor's face faltered, finding Jazz to be peeling away his defenses with ease. He gasped, his lack of motor control making it impossible to ward off his immobilizing restraints and thwart the mech currently hacking into his systems.

"How?…. How did you do that?" he asked, his voice straining as his files were systemically opened, copied, then purged with an abrasive rewrite program.

It was Jazz's turn to smirk and laugh, though his voice was hollow and not the rich, smooth tones of his usual tenor. "Medical overrides. You may build the best failsafe programs to keep out hackers but you can never deter medics. Their coding will always trump."

"That….that's impossible" he sputtered, feeling as if someone was taking sheets of steel and raking it over his processor. Though he couldn't feel his physical body, his mental one was being put through a wringer with razor sharp teeth that cut his mind into shreds.

Like sparks scattering to the solar winds, the codes opened, Hiltor's cortex easily perused like one would read a datapad. As the memory files were copied and dumped, Jazz initiated a subroutine that would cause a system wide cascade failure, that would render the sadistic bot useless for any further experimentation.

With a sparkling like click, Hiltor's optics unfocused, his systems struggling to retain control of his normal functions.

Jazz offered a soft cant of his helm before disconnecting from the science-bot and withdrawing the hardline back into his wrist.

"Do what you want with him," Jazz said, looking to Sideswipe.

Without a word Sideswipe extended a blade and sank it in the mech's back piercing his spark chamber. Hiltor slumped forward, his spark faltering into darkness as Sideswipe opened his arms and allowed the lifeless body to drop.

"Ready?" Jazz asked, unaffected by his partner's actions.

Sideswipe offered a nod and together, they walked to the door to where Sunstreaker stood, listening to the corridor beyond.

Sunstreaker held up a servo to halt his two conspirators before a soft beep emanated from him. There was the sound of a distant explosion.

The overhead comms erupted with mechs shouting for contaminant leak and for crews to seal off the ruptured pipes and evac the gases. Ten seconds later, another explosion shook the base, alarms sounding about the breach and warnings of another residual explosion being barked over the comms. Mechs called out in answer, two running by the science lab where the Autobots hid. When their pedefalls receded down the hall, Jazz led the way out of the lab. Retracing their steps, they managed to escape undetected, Jazz waiting until they were a good distance away before opening comms again.

'**I have a feeling you gave our friends a surprise parting gift?'** he asked to Sunstreaker who zoomed along beside of him on the left.

There was a deep chuckle from under the hood, followed by a signal that beeped a short code. Like a sun exploding the enemy base went up in flames. Fire belched to the heavens, erupting like lava and ejecting blackened bodies far into the air before they fell to the ground in smoldering heaps. Ash rained down like grey snow, blanketing the surrounding terrain.

When the trio made it back to Iacon, Jazz felt the frames racing beside of him relax. They entered through the front door, the guards accustomed to Jazz sneaking off for whatever reason, usually flanked by some of his more trusted personnel. They transformed, the twins earning a couple of suspicious looks from the ignorant sentries as they passed.

"I better get to Prime with this report," Jazz said, tilting his head to indicate the information he downloaded from Hiltor.

"We need to see Ratchet," Sideswipe said, looking to his silent twin, his expression of great concern. The saboteur gave a nod and took his leave.

Sideswipe waited until he and his brother were walking toward med bay when he grasped Sunstreaker's shoulder, halting his progress.

"What is wrong with you?" Sideswipe asked, staring into the tense face. He could feel the anger and revenge flowing unchecked through the bond. Whatever had Sunstreaker upset, it was festering like a wound.

"Found something in one of the labs," Sunstreaker said, jerking his head toward medbay.

"What?" Sideswipe asked, catching up to his brother when his strides lengthened.

"I've commed Ratchet," Sunstreaker said as way of explanation. "He's already waiting for us."

"We don't need to be refitted so soon," Sideswipe said, knowing that the augmentations took a long time and Ratchet was in a less than sympathetic mood. He hated doing the hard line rewiring and reinstallation of neural conductors when the Twins changed aspects of their frames.

Sunstreaker remained quiet until he entered the medical wing. Ratchet was waiting, hands on hips, face creased into a deep frown. He was not in a good mood, as predicted.

"This better be good," Ratchet snapped as soon as the two were inside the doors.

"Found something' Sunstreaker said, walking to the medic without trepidation or possible reprisal. He opened his subspace pocket, the one that housed most of the explosives he used in bringing down the con base, and extracted something small. It was oval in shape, with bits of metal colored in patches. It looked like wadded up piece of discarded metal.

Until it gave a feeble beep.

Sunstreaker planted the ball of metal on one of the berths and instantly the vitals registered. Ratchet let out a curse that would have gotten him reprimanded by Prime had he been present.

The ball of metal untangled itself to reveal a sparking that was half the standard size, even for a minibot. Its legs were thin, spindly, as was its arms and midsection. Its spark chamber was the only thing that was proportioned to a sparkling, though the thin covering of the protoform did little to hide the protruding chamber. The sparkling's helm was bare, circuits visible beneath the neural mesh. The sparkling rolled onto its hands and knees, emitting a soft buzzing noise like an engine needing a good tune up.

"This was the only one,' Sunstreaker said, nodding toward the premature sparkling. "The others in the lab were terminated, several dissected on tables."

"What were they doing?" Ratchet breathed, his scanners going over the thin frame and finding its numerous structural weaknesses to be disheartening and pitiful. The sparkling was not only premature but it was half starved. It was a wonder it was functioning.

The sparkling tried to chirp, but its unformed vocalizer couldn't produce the correct phonetics. It offered a soft buzz, trying to crawl before falling sideways, the pitch rising as it struggled to gain mobility.

"Is it salvageable?" Sideswipe asked staring dumbfounded at the little one rescued by his twin.

"With some time in an incubation chamber, and some proper nutrients, he should be fine," Ratchet said, already concocting the necessary formula to sustain the young spark.

"_He_?" Sunstreaker asked.

"Mechling," Ratchet confirmed as the sparkling tried to skitter on hand and knees and only managed a floundering type of crawl on his belly. Soft humming could be heard before it hitched into a pained filled whine.

Ratchet scooped the youngling up, shushing it and cradling it next to his spark. It snuggled close, its little frame nearly disappearing under the heavy armor of the medic.

"So, what are you going to name him?" Ratchet asked, looking at Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker stared at the tiny bundle, noting how he couldn't keep his body steady as he flailed in Ratchet's arms. It flopped as if trying to get comfortable, the soft hum becoming a contented buzz.

"Bumble... bee," Sunstreaker said slowly. "His name is Bumblebee.'

Ratchet smiled, feeling the little one settle into a niche in his armor, Bumblebee's tiny body now vibrating in tune with Ratchet's spark pulse.

Without another word the twins went to two of the berths and settled down. They were exhausted, though they didn't admit to such weakness. Sunstreaker offered one last look at the minuscule form held against Ratchet's bulk before allowing a smile to form as his consciousness fled.

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So, did you see that one coming?

I always wondered WHO could outwit someone's basic programming and how could Jazz be so good at sabotage/infiltration when it hit me. Medics have a set of 'keys' to any processor. Nothing would be safe from them and no one could defend against them. So, Jazz got to have a bit of a 'secret upgrade'... makes him more efficient and even more dangerously clever.

And I thought it would be to have a little Bee mentioned. :D i'm not sure if this type of 'introduction' has been done(Bee being the sole survivor of a medical/scientific experimentation and rescued by the twins), considering I rarely read on the site. If it has been done, I apologize.. especially if its one of the redundant 'story' lines thats clogs the boards.

Oh, and be on the lookout for another one shot I almost have finished. Its called "Disciplinary Actions"…. Spin off from "I Swear".

Thoughts are welcomed!


	66. To Feel Sunlight On Your Face

**To Feel Sunlight On Your Face**

Request from: DitzyMusicLover- I hope this is what you had in mind. It certainly didn't want to cooperate.

THANK YOU TO ALL WHO REVIEWED AND FOLLOW THIS AND "DISCIPLINARY ACTIONS".

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"Polish yourselves up. You have a client," a gruff mech said, looking between the two gladiators that were sparring in the main training room.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker put down their weapons and followed their master to the preparation room. Without word they stripped off the heavy, battered armor they used for training. It fell to the floor without care or regard, the master giving them an annoyed sneer before taking his leave.

"Wonder who we're supposed to please this time,' Sideswipe sighed, stepping into the hot oil bath that was waiting.

"Just as long as they don't want us for the night," Sunstreaker said, easing himself into the large pool next to his twin.

Both were used to such requests by their master. Most of the spectators believed the gladiators just trained, and fought in the matches, but there was another side to the gladiators' lives. Between matches they were primed and buffed, ready to please whoever had purchased their wiles.

The first time they were used in such a manner, both had experienced a full range of pleasure and pain by a bonded couple. They had been tied down and whipped, then pleasured until their processors almost shorted out. Then the roles were reversed, and both learned the delicate touch of pleasurable chastisement.

Rarely were the twins separated when commissioned for pleasure. Most clients preferred to have the taboo twins to slake their assorted hungers. They had gotten used to it. Most purchased their wares before an upcoming match. After the games they were battered and broken, and usually too injured to entertain a partner for the desired results. Having a mech before his match also afforded the added thrill of his violent emotions. Very few clients had wanted a slow, attentive lover. Most wanted to be taken rough by gladiatorial standards and in return, to subdue, overpower, and overload a gladiator. It was a curious pastime between the social elite. They all tried to one up each other and inflate their tallies by improving their performances. Sometimes others would watch, just so a point could be proven.

When both twins were clean, they emerged from the bath and buffed the residual oil from their protoforms. When they were done they went to their shared quarters and removed their stage armor. It was much lighter than their arena gear. And both ensured their amour shone as brilliantly as possible. Clients paid high for well polished and groomed slaves to share their berth. If one was dented, dull and bulky, they lost their sensual appeal.

When both were sparkling like gems they exited their quarters and went to the masters office, where he was seated at his desk. His numerous datapads littered the surface, Sunstreaker's artistic optic catching the vast numbers on a ledger.

"Go to this location," the mech said, tossing a datachip. "Mech paid five thousand credits for the whole cycle."

Without a word the twins nodded and left, going to the transport that took the gladiators to their pleasurable destinations. The ride to the hostelry was long, given that it was seated on the edge of town. Most merchants frequented the establishment, but sometimes a Tower mech would use the seedy rooms for the illicit thrills they didn't want their social equals to be privy to.

"I will return mid-cycle tomorrow," the driver said before slamming the door and taking off.

The twins watched him go, their fuel pumps starting to hammer. They always got nervous when meeting their berth clients. One never knew if the evening was to be spent pleasuring a femme or bent over a table while a Noble pounded your valve.

"Room four seventeen," Sunstreaker said from the datachip. "Says here he's a sales mech."

"No tower brat?" Sideswipe asked, climbing the stairs. The place was well maintained, despite its location. "Slag. They have the best high grade."

"Just says he's a business mech and wanted the company for a full cycle," Sunstreaker recited, putting the datachip into his subspace pocket as they gained the fourth floor.

"Too bad," Sideswipe sighed, looking at the door numbers for their destination. "It makes this go so much easier."

When they found room number seventeen, Sideswipe knocked. The door automatically retracted, granting entrance. Without hesitation the twins stepped over the threshold, the door closing behind them.

"Come in," came a soft cultured voice from a small mech seated at a table. There were several cubes of high grade in front of him.

The twins went to the table and sat down in the available chairs. They had done this type of dance so many times, nothing fazed them. They had learned how to read a mech or femme's body language and take lead, giving them the fantasy they paid for. It was just another hard cycle of work for the gladiator life. At least they sometimes enjoyed themselves and were granted genuine release.

"Would you like some high grade?" the mech asked, polite enough to be a tower brat in disguise. Wouldn't be the first time the twins had entertained an incognito noble. The mech was small in stature. The twins doubted he could reach their shoulders if he stood. There were company logos adorning his arms and shoulders. His hands were large for his frame, showing his ability as a hard laborer. Dark green optics surveyed the two with polite interest behind a transparent visor that probably dimmed with whatever danger labor the mech engaged in for pay.

Sideswipe felt trepidation flood the bond. Sunstreaker didn't like minibots. Most were just rough, brutish and didn't allow him to find his release. There was nothing worse than being dismissed while frustrated.

The twins drank and to their astonishment, the grade was worthy of the Towers. As far as either knew, no minibot held such high station.

Intriguing….

"Do you know why you're here?" the mech asked, his tone soft as his emerald optics surveyed his guests with intent scrutiny. He poured the twins drinks, earning an appreciative optic from both gladiators. It wasn't often a client was amicable and poured drinks for their conquests. Most just wanted a fantasy acted out and then someone's valve was going to get a thorough workout.

"You wished for companionship," Sideswipe said in a seductive purr. The mech could pitch his voice in such ways, he'd been known to cause overloads just by the timber of his vocalizer. It was something of a pride that he shared with Sunstreaker. They had a running tally on their vocal conquests. Sideswipe's favorite combination was rumbling words over audios while his engine revved full throttle against a chassis, Sunstreaker working the clients interface panel and alternating rumbles to a chorus of screaming overloads.

"Satisfaction guaranteed,' Sunstreaker added in a deeper tone that made the mech shiver, despite himself. The twins exchange knowing smirks and triumphant pride through the bond.

"Do you enjoy this?" the mech asked, causing both twins to start and look to the mech with curiously stunned expressions. "Being used for pleasurable company, I mean."

"We do what we must to make our master happy," Sideswipe said, feeling a strange sensation tingle along his relays. Was this unknown mech trying to set them up?

The mech's attitude grew dark, foreboding, and a little scary. He looked both twins in the optics and asked in a deadly serious voice, "Do you enjoy being used for pleasure? And speak the truth. I do not want an answer you **think** I want to hear. I want the truth."

"No, " Sunstreaker said, gaining the mechs attention, his optic boring into his own. "We don't like it. We hate it."

"Why?" the mech asked, keeping his attention on the golden mech.

"It's degrading," Sunstreaker said, not bothering to soften his words. If the client wanted the truth and commanded honesty, then Sunstreaker would oblige. Course that may mean he'd be the one violently spiked in retribution to such harsh rebuke. He decided to give the mech the truth he wanted to hear. "It's horrible to be treated as property. Being forced to fight or kill so some Nobles can be entertained."

Sideswipe didn't want his brother to suffer the wrath of a temperamental client, so he picked up where his twin left off. "To have your life weighed by how well you fight and have strangers to cheer when you receive an injury."

"To be forced to take another mechs life, just so strangers can gamble on the length of termination and line the subspace pockets of those who think ending a life is fun." Sunstreaker said.

"To be commanded to berth a client who has paid enough," Sideswipe said, his optics turning dark with memories. "To be educated on different forms of pleasure, some cruel and violent and cause such pain, you fear you will lose yourself to it."

"Or that you may accidentally hurt someone that you care for," Sunstreaker said, oblivious to the mechs head jerking between the two as they spoke.

"To have your body violated by someone who cares nothing for you and laughs when you incur injury." Sideswipe added, downing his cube with a morose look.

"It's horrible,' Sunstreaker said, pulling his mind form the clouded thoughts. "But we are property. It can not be changed. It's what we are built to do."

"Did you have creators?" the mech asked.

"They were terminated during an uprising when a shuttle exploded. They were piloting the ship." Sunstreaker said, his tone returning to the seductive rumble to entice the client. He really didn't want to talk about his lost creators and the horrible life of an enslaved gladiator. He and Sideswipe were there for a reason, and the sooner they got to it, the sooner Sunstreaker could clean the mech's mark from his body and await transport home.

"And you were remanded to youngling centers?" the mech asked, trying to gauge the age of the two mechs.

"We never had the chance,' Sideswipe said, hiding a surprised expression as the mech poured more of the high grade into his crystal glass. He downed half of his high grade before added, "A bot showed up, said they knew our creators and they would take care of us and next thing we know, we're sold to a master."

"And outfitted with these," Sunstreaker said raising his chin and showing the small collar attacked to his throat.

"If we disobey our master, we receive a shock," Sideswipe said, his servo rubbing the offending equipment. "If we make him mad, or we don't win a fight, he disrupts our electrical relays, rendering us unconscious until we can reboot."

"They are trackers as well," Sunstreaker added, finishing his glass and grabbing the cube the mech offered. He downed the last bit of high grade, his optics glowing bright with the building charge. If he indulged a little more high grade, there was a chance he could overload and not be left unsatisfied.

"If you could escape, would you?" the mech asked.

Sideswipe offered a look of polite humor, thinking the mech was pulling his bolts and speaking in a hypothetical, joking way. Unfortunately, Sunstreaker didn't perceive it as such.

"Yes," Sunstreaker answered for the both of them.

Sideswipe cast his brother an anxious look while flooding the bond with incredulous terror. They didn't know this mech. He could be a plant by the master to gauge the loyalty of his gladiators. It wouldn't be the first time the twins were tested in such a manner, granted the last time didn't involve a potential client.

They sat in silence for a moment, the twins downing another full cube between them. The client sat, arms folded over chassis, regarding the two with his emerald optics. When the twins started to shift in awkwardness, the mech locked optics with Sideswipe.

"Stand up," the mech commanded after a moment.

Without hesitation, Sideswipe stood. His frame was relaxed, ready to please on command. When the mech stood in front of him, Sideswipe instinctively grabbed the mech's waist. But instead of amorous intention, the mech slapped Sideswipe's servos aside. His servo grasped Sideswipe's chin and turned his helm, affording the mech the vantage of inspecting the slave device.

Sideswipe thought it odd but held still. If the mech wanted to ensure his pleasurable company was legit, then he would perform whatever tests the mech demanded. Such compliance made Sideswipe's tank churn every time, but he had learned to quell the feeling. He felt the mech's fingers along the control device. If he wanted the thrill of berthing a slave, he was going about it in a strange way. Most clients already knew of their partners standing. It seemed odd that this mech was so interested in a collar he should already know existed.

Sideswipe remained immobile, a feat he had learned despite his fidgety nature. The mechs fingers were gentle, brushing along the cables and wires. Light, feathery, touches that seemed more intimate than what was expected to be performed in the berth.

Several minutes passed, Sunstreaker staring with curiosity. A client had never been so interested in their collars before. It seemed strange. Perhaps this wasn't a tower's mech afterall? They most certainly didn't care what a mech or femme felt about being enslaved and forced to do unspeakable acts to keep their masters appeased. Most didn't even bother to look at the slave collars. The only times the collars were acknowledged was to anchor a mech as he spiked his partner. Then the collars served as both immobilizing device and leash.

Maybe this was the mech's first time purchasing gladiatorial pleasures? Or maybe he was just ensuring that his partners were indeed a slave to his will.

Thinking he should be doing something instead of just standing there letting a client brush his digits across his throat, Sideswipe reached out, his hands caressing the mech's arms. With an annoyed huff, the mech slapped the hands away a second time and went back to his investigation.

Surprise filled the bond. Sideswipe stood ramrod straight, unsure what he was supposed to do or what was going on. Sunstreaker's handsome face turned dark as he surveyed the strange mech.

Something wasn't right.

The mech worked in silence for several minutes. When his digits retracted to display tools, Sideswipe jerked in surprise, his spark pounding in fear. Sunstreaker was in motion before the sensation could filter through fully. He was standing behind the strange mech, his hands at the ready to terminate the mech if he harmed his twin. Their master would have them beaten and probably separated in punishment, possibly assigning both to multiple death matches, but he would ensure they learned their lesson about terminating a client. A master couldn't have his servants out of his control. That would mean his ruin and many a mechs termination.

_Click_

"There," the mech said, then turned, jumping when he found Sunstreaker standing directly behind him. "You're next."

"For what?" Sunstreaker asked, his optics not straying from the stranger in case he tried an attack.

The bond was wide open, keeping both twins linked in their souls. Sideswipe's trepidation gave way to surprise when he felt the collar retract from its anchor and fall into his awaiting servo. His wide optics stared at the collar for a long moment before rising to look at his twin. Sunstreaker mirrored his brother's expression, both looking to the mech between them. Now that they were standing together, the twins easily dwarfed their client.

"May I?" the mech asked, nodding to Sunstreaker's collar.

Sunstreaker nodded, turning his head and giving the mech access.

It only took half the time to release Sunstreaker from his collar. The mech worked in silence, the twins unsure what to say. When Sunstreaker's collar fell free, he crushed it in his servo and sprinkled its components on the floor.

"Why did you do this?" Sideswipe asked, still holding his collar in frozen confusion.

"No mech or femme should be forced to do something against their will," the mech answered.

"Now what are we supposed to do?" Sunstreaker asked, clearly unsure on what was expected. He had been commanded all his life. To be given something as foreign as **freedom**, he wasn't sure he could handle such a concept.

"I have witnessed the skills you two possess fighting in the rings," the mech said, storing his tools used to free the infamous twins. "There is a faction who abhor such horrible venues of entertainment. They can use your skills, if you are so inclined to prevent such things from happening to others."

"Freedom…" Sideswipe muttered, staring at the collar still laying innocently in his servo.

"The choice is yours to make," the mech said looking between the duo. "If you wish to flee, you will not be hunted down nor persecuted for wanting to avoid the war."

"War?" Sideswipe barked in alarm.

"I thought the war was just a rumor," Sunstreaker said, looking to his twin in fear. "Something the master said to keep us in line."

"A war is upon us," the mech said, sounding saddened and sickened. "Megatron terminated the Prime and now a new Prime has been chosen."

"Megatron?" Sunstreaker hissed. His fists flexed at his side, his armor puffing against his protoform, displaying the raw power beneath the polished metal. "From Kaon?"

"He leads the others in a rebellion against the Prime," the mech said, going to the table and sitting down. He poured himself a cube of high grade while he continued, "But the new Prime isn't a Noble or Senator. He's a dock worker, well aware of the instability of the classes and the torment the Nobles have imposed upon the people. He's trying to free all classes."

"He wishes to end slavery?" Sideswipe asked in a breathless tone, sitting down opposite, his collar hanging loose in his servo.

"To _stop_ the fighting circuits?" Sunstreaker asked, sitting next to his brother.

"The Senate is against him, but he has already proven he is serious by removing more than half from their office," the mech said. It just occurred to him that the mechs he just freed may not have been privy to the news broadcasts and current events. If they didn't even know the planet was in the beginning labor pains of a civil war, then they wouldn't know all the details.

"The Prime can do that?" Sunstreaker asked, optics wide in disbelief.

"He bears the Matrix," the mech said with an incredulous tone. "He can do whatever he wants and has the will of Primus directly speaking to his spark."

"Didn't do so great with the last Prime," Sideswipe said. "We've seen him at some of the matches. Had to berth him a few times as well."

"He was corrupt and not the true intended Prime," the mech said, suppressing the urge to gag at the idea of berthing the previous leader. "We found out through archives and personal logs that he took the Matrix from his predecessor and grafted the Matrix to his own spark. He was never meant to be its bearer."

"Why didn't it destroy him?" Sunstreaker asked, remembering all too well the numerous matches the old Prime had attended. His voice had rung the loudest when commanding Sunstreaker to terminate a mech for his disappointing loss. And he always wanted Sunstreaker to fight and scream as he was pursued by the randy Prime who luxuriated in the chase and subsequent claiming of a pseudo-sealed mech.

"According to the new Prime, Optimus, he said the Matrix allowed itself to be carried until it was time for it to choose its next bearer," the mech explained, downing the last of his cube. "In the end, the Matrix removed itself from the previous Prime's chest plates and went to Optimus."

"And he is really going to end the slave trade?" Sideswipe asked.

"He ordered all enslaved bots to be freed as his **first** command," the mech said. "And those of high standing who refused were immediately striped of privilege and property."

"So how does Megatron fit into this?" Sunstreaker asked, his hand flexing at the mention of his rivals name. Megatron was the only one who could defeat Sunstreaker. Something that still twisted his circuits.

"Megatron used the inequality to band some mechs together and storm several business, burning them to the ground," the mech explained. He felt like one of the newsbots from the information net but these two mechs needed to know. They had to know what lay beyond the walls of the Pit. "He's collecting followers, and they're getting more and more aggressive."

"But if the new Prime is eliminating the caste system, why continue with an uprising?" Sideswipe asked. Politics never interested him but the prospect of a mech amassing an army to do something that the most influential mech on the planet was already enacting, was overkill.

"There's been rumors that Megatron wants the Matrix for himself," the mech said, offering a lopsided shrug. "But I don't know if they're real or used as a smokescreen for a bigger agenda."

"Why are you telling us?" Sunstreaker said, giving the mech a critical look. He didn't trust easy and there was something about this mech that made his plating crawl. There was more to him than what the optics perceived.

"If you are to get away from the Pit, you need to know all the information so you can make your decision," the mech said, giving that half shrug again. "I just think the more you know, the better you can plan."

Sideswipe looked to the collar that was lying in his palm, a frown on his face. "I don't know if we _**can**_ get away."

"I disabled the tracker from the collar," the mech said, looking in disgust at the enslavement device. "You are free to chose your own path and not worry about a master directing your movements."

"Why did you do this?" Sunstreaker asked. His optics were dark, his expression hard as steel. His fists rested on the table, showing the true strength within his golden frame. "And tell me the truth."

The mech gave a start, his optics blinking in shock at the tone and command behind Sunstreaker's voice.

"I wanted to help someone," the mech said, his voice sounding shaky. He cleared his vents before continuing, "War is upon us. Everyone needs to be prepared."

"War?" Sideswipe said, canting his helm. "But why save **us**? Surely there are others? Civilians? Someone else who would benefit from freedom."

"I can only do so much," the mech admitted, looking to the last remaining cube. It glowed a brilliant lavender, its taste reserved for seekers of premium grade. "If I can save one life, it's worth it." He looked up, his emerald optics glancing between the two before he added, "Or two in this case."

"Why do you feel as if you have to save us?" Sunstreaker asked. Having someone think about his well being as being paramount was a foreign concept. He was used to mechs trying to terminate him, not set him free. And most certainly not to giving him choices that he was allowed to make for himself.

"I took a life," the mech said softly, gaze back to the shimmering purple liquid.

"So? We do that all the time," Sunstreaker said, earning a sharp elbow from his twin and a flood of irritation over the bond. He scowled, sinking back into his seat and scowling at the mech opposite.

"I didn't want to, but he left me no choice," the mech admitted. His voice was strained, as if it was costing his resolve to speak the words out loud. "I terminated him. Without thought. Without hesitation. Without flinching. I just stabbed him straight through the spark, terminating him with one blow."

"Impressive," Sunstreaker said, earning another wave of annoyance.

"It's not who I am," the mech said looking at Sunstreaker with a desperate expression. "I have never attacked anyone before, let alone terminate someone."

"But you survived," Sunstreaker said, cutting off his brother's reprimand with a resounding kick under the table. Sideswipe grunted with the rebuke but remained silent to allow Sunstreaker to speak. "Someone attacked you and you terminated them. There was nothing to fault. It was either him or you. It takes struts to do what's necessary to survive."

"You make it sound so easy," the mech said, his gaze meeting Sunstreaker's. He slumped back in his seat, casting a miserable look to his guests.

"It is," Sunstreaker said, not breaking optic contact. The two stared at each other a few seconds before Sunstreaker added, "Is that why you freed us? To repay a debt for taking a life?"

The mech gave a soft smile before grabbing the last cube and cracking it open. He poured the contents between the three of them, his processor on overdrive. He wasn't used to such feelings. He wasn't used to conflict and clashing emotions. He wasn't used to war.

"I figured, if I take a life, I can give one back," the mech said, raising his crystal glass in a salute before tossing the liquid back. He coughed through his vents as the refined fuel struck his absorption relays. Ground frames definitely had to use precaution on the seeker blends.

"Well, now you're one up," Sideswipe said, tossing back his own drink without even flinching. The grade was smooth, making it go down easy into his cast iron tank. "So now you can terminate someone else and be even."

The mech allowed himself a smile at the absurdity of the suggestion.

"We should go," the mech said, storing the emptied cubes into his subspace. "It will take some time before you are missed and I'd rather you put distance between yourselves and this place."

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker rose and out of some strange need to do so, Sideswipe extended his servo. The mech who liberated them looked to the extension and cracked a smile before taking the offered greeting.

"How can we repay you for what you've done?" Sideswipe asked, sending a tingling energy field along the other mech's plating. It had a double meaning.

"Don't get yourselves terminated," the mech said, releasing Sideswipe's servo and taking a step away.

"Where will you go?" Sunstreaker asked, not offering a physical gesture of good will. He sent a soured feeling through the bond, letting his twin know he didn't appreciate the hidden offer to the strange mech. They were now free. They didn't have to share a berth with him.

"Away. Away from here, away from everything,' the mech said, looking toward the door, his optic's distant. "You're not the only ones who need a fresh start."

"Where should we go?" Sideswipe asked, looking to his twin with a lost expression. They had never experienced freedom before. It settled heavy on their consciousness.

"You can join Megatron, if you so chose," the mech said, letting the twins know it was their choice. He would honor it, even if he didn't agree. Thankfully, he received a hateful gleam from the golden mech.

"Do you wan to get slagged?" Sunstreaker asked in a rumbling tone.

"Or you can become neutral," the mech offered. It was nice to know he wouldn't see these two fighting on the wrong side. It would break his spark, if he ever admitted to such emotional slag.

"And **not** fight?" Sideswipe asked, sounding both surprised and hurt by the prospect.

"You can join the Prime and his Autobots and fight against Megatron," the mech offered, feeling his spark surge with the notion. He went to the door and opened it, checking to see if the coast was clear before the trio's joint escape to their new futures.

"Do you know where to find them?" Sideswipe asked.

"Two hundred kliks east, in Iacon," the mech said, standing in the doorway. "That's their main base."

"Thanks," Sideswipe said, stepping to the door, Sunstreaker trailing behind.

"Just don't get yourselves terminated, or my debt will have to be repaid," the mech said with a half smile.

"Don't worry. We know what we're doing." Sideswipe said, finally taking the bold step of crushing his collar. Its shattered remains fell through his fingers and tinkled on the floor. Now, he and his brother were truly **free**.

"By the way, what is your designation?" Sunstreaker asked.

"Meister, you can call me Meister." The mech said with a nod before disappearing out the door.

The twins followed and found the hallway clear of their savior's presence. They both gaped in awe, sharing a look between them as they set out for their first real taste of life as free mechs. Neither knew that Meister followed them in the shadows all the way to Iacon.

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Is that what you had in mind my dear?

Thought we'd dabble a bit more in drama since I want to show all aspects of the twins personalities and not focus sorely on the pranking, idiotic sots they tend to be only portrayed all the time.

Reviews are loved!

Next week... Request from Lady Nebkhat


	67. No Time On the Side

**Another Side of the Story**

THANK YOU to Ditzymusiclover for the altnerative title!

**Lady Nebkhat** request who enjoys torturing the twins as much as I do. Sorry it took so long! Hope you like!

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"You should open up more," Sideswipe said, giving his brother's frame an appraising optic as he buffed himself to an indecent shine. "You're too reclusive."

"I just don't wish to subject myself to the company of others," Sunstreaker countered, admiring his shine in the full length mirror. His twin was perched on the end of his berth, looking just as dashing in the reflection.

"Let me guess, the whole artist persona of being distant, mysterious, moody…" Sideswipe grumbled, waving his servo in a flighty gesture as he rolled his optics.

"There's nothing mysterious about wanting to be left alone and not surrounded by simpering, whining, indulgent fools who think they can buy their way into your berth or under you're your plating," Sunstreaker retorted, turning from his reflection to glare at his brother.

"The femmes always go for the strong, silent types," Sideswipe grumbled, crossing his arms and looking away from his brother.

"What do you have to complain about?" Sunstreaker retorted. "You have quite the reputation."

"And I have you to thank for it," Sideswipe grinned. He really couldn't be bummed out for too long. It wasn't in his nature.

"What can I say?" Sideswipe grinned, rising from the berth and taking the few paces to his twin. His optics were slitted into wicked slivers, a devilish smirk on his face. "You're like energon goodies. The femmes keep flocking to you."

"I rather they flocked somewhere else," Sunstreaker griped. He rubbed his chest above his spark chamber, trying to quell the sensation his brother was sending through their link.

"Oh no, you are my lucky charm," Sideswipe said, looping his arm through his twins and escorting him out of the suite. "The femmes know they can't have you, so they come to me. It's a win-win."

Sideswipe liked to capitalize on his brother's popularity. If Sunstreaker was in high demand with the social elite, then who were two ex gladiators to argue?

"You're a spike driven mech," Sunstreaker commented, allowing Sideswipe to steer him to their transport. Since Sunstreaker was successful in his artistic endeavors, he had the credits to pay for private transportation.

"What can I say?" Sideswipe said cracking open a small cube of ultra refined high grade when they entered the transport. It hit his systems with a stinging impact, giving him the edge he wanted to face the coming crowd. "If you don't want them, I'll be more than happy to supply them with pleasure for the cycle."

"No disappointments yet?" Sunstreaker said, reliving all his twins more intimate moments when he let slip control of the bond. Sometimes it was during the most inopportune moments.

"As if a femme _could_ be disappointed," Sideswipe scoffed. "I never leave a femme unsatisfied."

"Lucky for you I don't live my life with my spike to direct me," Sunstreaker quipped.

"Be funny if you did," Sideswipe joked, downing the rest of the high grade. He offered Sunstreaker a cube but he refused.

The gala openings were always a big deal. Bots from all over Cybertron attended the social gatherings. Mechs of standing, rank, influence, even the Prime himself had visited a few of Sunstreaker's exhibits. During such grand openings Sunstreaker was always a nervous wreck, sometimes purging his tank. Sideswipe learned to keep his brother on a schedule of very little fuel on the morning of the opening, then nothing until Sunstreaker had met with the most top influential mechs in attendance. Then he would be allowed a few shots of the high grade, which settled his nerves but made him rather surly and standoffish. Sideswipe often commented that Sunstreaker's artistic mood mirrored his drunken mood.

"I'm going to purge," Sunstreaker groaned as they pulled into the disembarking line of celebrity guests.

"You don't have anything in your tank," Sideswipe reminded his twin, taking several deep breaths, ready to enjoy a night of talk, dancing, pretending to the be the handsome, yet timid and approachable, brother to the artist. A couple of cubes of high grade disappeared into his subspace to replenish his systems after the inevitable frags in private from willing, and influential femmes.

Sideswipe always accumulated a list of conquests at these openings. And twice Sunstreaker had suffered a secondary overload shut down right in the middle of entertaining important clients. When he found his twin sometime later, he throttled him for good measure, reminding him to keep his side of the bond firmly closed while engaging female companions. Sideswipe reciprocated by sharing the memory files with his twin, both suffering from secondary overloads from the memory loops.

The duo exited the transport amid flashes of news cameras and adoring fans of Sunstreaker's work. Several high society mechs greeted the artists and linked arms with him, basking in the adoration of the crowd. Sideswipe took up the rear of the procession, seeking out the adoring femmes who looked ready to earn an artist's favor.

The gallery was as usual hosting high paying clientele, each trying to one-up their fellow elitist and own assorted pieces from the most respected artist to grace Cybertron. The prices hit the stratosphere, the gallery owner nearly oiling himself with the percentage he was earning on behalf of his main showcasing client.

Sunstreaker was ushered to a knot of Tower mechs who argued over the best pieces of Sunstreaker's collection and asked the artists opinion on the true feeling and emotion behind the designs. Sunstreaker babbled about his work, feeling safe and warm in his environment.

The Senate and the local Chancellor all were in attendance. Sunstreaker greeted many as friend, having been around the circuit long enough to remember designations and know who was serious about art and who as just in it for the grandeur and show.

Catering bots flitted about the room, serving spiced drinks and exotic blends. The upper class paid them no mind, often treating them as mere servants than actual living beings. Sunstreaker watched the world move by in quiet contemplation, his smile etched into his face from habit as the representatives from other districts introduced themselves.

When two representatives from some city state on the other side of the planet were arguing over Sunstreaker's latest sculpture, arguing over whether it was a reflection of memories or a symbol of emerging genius trying to break free from an oppressing world. Sunstreaker didn't have the spark to tell them that the sculpture was by accident, the veins running through the stone had created the strange path. Sunstreaker had thought it beautiful, so he never broke the polished, golden hue that nature had suspended within the rock.

He was looking around the vast majority of the crowd when he saw her. She was a serving femme for the event, her hands filled with trays of drinks in bright colors. Her smile was just as fake as Sunstreaker's as she tried to ignore the blatant disregard of her fellow Cybertronians.

Sunstreaker stepped away from the still arguing mechs, oblivious to their chatter and their stares as he departed their company without excuse or apologies and made his slow progress across the room. When he gained the serving femme's side, she turned to offer him a drink when their optics locked. Both of their expressions went from surprise to adoration then to coy infatuation.

"Sir," the femme said, her smile lighting up her pale optics in a pleasing way that had Sunstreaker's engine revving. When she looked into his optics a blush crept up along her cheek plates.

"Hi," Sunstreaker said, mentally slapping himself at the absurdity of the simple word.

The party fell away, the attending high society long forgotten as the two stared into each other's optics. Sunstreaker grabbed the tray from her hand and shoved it toward another of the catering staff and captured her servo, pulling her toward him. One servo lifted her servo to his lips to kiss and the other snaked around her waist.

She didn't protest. Her frame fell into a perfect mold to his, their optics never leaving the gaze of the other.

Sunstreaker felt his spark threaten to leap out of its casing and by the violent heaving of the femme's body against his, she felt it to.

So enraptured with each other, the duo didn't notice the shudder of heavy impact. The party goers were oblivious as well until one of the windows shattered and the sound of high pitched whistling could be heard. When the second bomb landed, the social elite screamed like panicking organics, knocking each other down in an attempt to escape. As Sunstreaker felt his spark pulse with desire toward his only true intended, he felt the world quake, the building rock on its foundations. He was lost in his dream world, the only thing bringing him crashing into reality was the sharp, intense pain that seared his spark. He gasped, losing contact with the femme and placing his servo over his chest.

The pain nearly bent him double and with a sickening horror he realized Sideswipe was hurt. Using his brother's frantic spark call as a beacon, Sunstreaker focused on the weak signal and started to run toward his twin. A small part of his spark twinged in protest, wanting to stay with its intended mate, but Sideswipe's pain bleeding over the bond demanded immediate action.

Sunstreaker was several paces away when he turned, intent on calling out to his new love, to invite her to flee with him and find his brother, but a partition collapsed, taking several of Sunstreaker's work, and his femme with it. Her body disappeared under the burning beam of melting metal, Sunstreaker's art twisting into a lump of scrap, the materials burning away and filling the air with ash.

Stunned, Sunstreaker stared, watching as the femme's frame disappeared under the wreckage, her scream cut off by the sound of twisting metal as the room threatened to cave in further. Her body was entombed in the molten mass of art created by her long lost love.

Another sharp stab to his spark and Sunstreaker took off at a dead run, following his brother's weakened signal.

Not knowing what to do, Sunstreaker started to cry, running away from the only chance at true love and happiness he was sure was destined to be. But his brother needed him, and if he had to choose who was the top priority Sunstreaker loathed to admit it, but his brother would always be his first priority. No one else could understand him, nor tolerate him the way Sideswipe did. They were two halves of one whole. There couldn't be one without the other and neither could survive without the other.

They were a matched set, together forever, regardless of what the destiny wished to unfold.

With a shout Sunstreaker awoke, his optics onlining to look up at the Cybertronian sky painted above his berth. His systems were running hot, displaying the readouts as if he had been running and reliving those moments so many eons ago. A shadow loomed over him.

It didn't take his proximity sensors to alert him that it was Sideswipe.

Sideswipe had been awoken by the sense of torment in his brother's spark. While charging, the brothers couldn't control what slipped through the bond. It was wide open and everything easily explored by the other. It made nightmares, such as the ones Sunstreaker was reliving, to come alive and haunt the twins as if it just transpired. One never knew when the other would throw them into the past and then both would suffer the losses, sparkache, and anguish, feeling the emotions of the other as if they were their own.

Sideswipe didn't say a word. He already knew. This dream had been a reoccurring one since it happened. Even after all the twins went through, there were some memories that still haunted them.

Sunstreaker turned away from his brother, too ashamed to face his twin after thinking about the lost possibility. He would never betray his brother, but there was always some part of him that wondered what could have happened with the femme.

What kind of life could Sunstreaker be living?

He didn't begrudge Sideswipe before injured during the initial Decepticon campaign. He loved his brother, though he never admitted such a thing out loud. But Sideswipe knew. He could feel it. And he could feel the dedication and love that smothered him when Sunstreaker was feeling guilty for wanting another life other than that of a soldier on a strange planet.

Sideswipe felt guilty too though he hid it better than his twin. That night, he had been leading a very alluring femme to a quiet place when Sunstreaker's side of the bond flared so bright, Sideswipe faltered. He gasped, clutching at his chest plates, his processor taking time to realize that it was the residual effects filtering through of finding one's, or in this case, two's sparkmate. The femme who had been going along looked at Sideswipe was a curious expression, not understanding that fate was already sealed. Destiny decided. Sideswipe pulled away and turned, heading toward his twin that was broadcasting so violently about finding its sparkmate and needing its other half to complete itself, that he didn't notice the brilliant flashes of light outside. The rocking of the foundations was attributed to the fantasy the world moved when you found your true soul mate. Death, destruction and pain weren't in Sideswipe's processor, but they bloomed in spectacular vengeance in his body.

The windows shattered into a billion diamonds, before the sonic blast knocked Sideswipe to the floor. He skidded several meters, his equilibrium circuits knocked haywire. He was dimly aware of a screaming as the floor fell away, revealing a deep crater that swallowed the femme. Sideswipe stumbled to regain his legs when a missile impacted the building, blowing the structure to the Pit. Shrapnel flew out in a dazzling display of molten colors, one shard zeroing in on Sideswipe and landing almost dead center. Sideswipe cried out, feeling his lower half nearly severed completely from his body, his frame going into shut down procedures as his spark cried out for help.

Sideswipe was unaware after that point.

He didn't know the time it took for Sunstreaker to fight his way through burning debris and screaming patrons. The numerous burns and tears to his plating. The pain that sent him falling to his knees on several occasions, nor the sense of loneliness and despair that filled his half spark. He didn't know how long it took for Sunstreaker to wrest him free of his entombment, nor of the crying torment the artist went through as he fought to free his twin from certain termination. The ensuing fight from invading strangers. The numb sense of disbelief when Sunstreaker terminated them without thought or hesitation. The long, agonizing hours Sunstreaker spent repairing what wounds he could while linking his systems to his twins. The endless stretch of time that Sunstreaker hoisted his partially melted brother into his arms and carried him out of the building, searching for safety.

Sunstreaker couldn't recall how long he wandered in a daze, his broken and bleeding brother clutched in his arms. All he remembered was the sense of loss and terrible pain not entirely his own filling his being and blanking out all else. It was a long time later that Ratchet explained he had found the duo wandering down charred streets and over graying bodies and that Sunstreaker had collapsed in his arms in exhausted submission.

Silently, Sideswipe crawled onto the berth behind Sunstreaker. He could feel the anguish passing through unchecked. He wrapped his arms around his brother, pulling their sparks into alignment and allowing them to find their natural, soothing rhythm held within. Sunstreaker's frame shuddered from grief, tears leaking from his optics as he allowed his brother to just hold him. And in doing so, chase away the monsters that stole his peace.

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**There you have it. Another dramatic piece and glimpse to 'what if' in the twins' history. They just cant seem to catch a break, can they?**

**Next week: Request from BlitzKrazi-1**

**Reviews are loved and appreciated. Requests are still asked to be held until I'm caught up and can give them proper attention. As of right now, I have 6 more that are outlined and working on but no idea on when they will be finished. And while I'm waiting for my muse to cooperate, I'll add a few chapters of my own to tide y'all over. **


	68. Character Streaks

**Character Streaks**

**Request for Blitz-Krazi-1, who apparently sees the twins as jailbirds and enjoys delving into their layered psychology. Hope this is what you had in mind, dearie!**

**AN: Sorry for the disappointing post last week. Apparently I need to work on my 'drama'. :) I will keep it in mind for future postings.**

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"And we're to stay in here until we learn our lesson," Sideswipe said, rocking to one leg and giving the Praxian a lopsided smirk. "But we know how well that actually works, so there's no use in lecturing us on the scrap that doesn't stick in our processors."

Prowl gave an annoyed flick of his doorwings, glaring at the two mechs now behind energy bars.

"Why do you keep doing things that require me to punish you?" he asked.

"We kinda like it," Sideswipe grinned, earning a growl of warning from the adjacent cell. Sunstreaker didn't find the expression amusing.

"Three days," Prowl said spinning on his heel and leaving the two alone.

"Why does he even bother?" Sunstreaker asked, going to his berth and settling down onto its all too familiar surface.

"Beats me," Sideswipe said.

"I will when I get out," Sunstreaker promised, earning a thrum of affection from his twin. Honestly the mech must have a pain fetish. He either invoked the wrath of his brother or the medic, and both didn't hold their punches when correcting the ruby Lamborghini. It was like he enjoyed the pain.

Sideswipe plopped down on his own berth, feeling the connection to his twin through the reinforced wall. It was strange, loving and yet hating each other at the same time. They fought, argued, and throttled each other on a regular basis, but yet, they held a deep connection neither could quite identify, let alone name. It was definitely a familiar bond, seeing how they wanted to kill each other on a regular basis but fretted horribly when one was truly slagged.

They settled onto their berths, perfect copies of each other. It felt good to have the barrier between them. They could feel each other, but still have the distance they needed to soothe their processors. It was difficult to constantly feel another presence inside your mind and soul. Even if they were the other half of your soul, it's still a very tiring physical strain.

Both had mature adult sparks now, but there was always the need to draw to one another. They were each others strength and weakness, and yet, they were a catalyst for chaos. Peace and silence didn't exist in their world. Since their creation they had been surrounded by noise and hatred, and strangers and the utter craziness that comes from growing up orphaned on the streets of a very inhospitable environment. Scraping by with weak frames, under developed bodies, lacking proper upgrades, unable to have decent, sustainable maintenance and the fact that both went great lengths of time before refueling. It was a grueling existence, but it also taught the twins to be creative. They depended on each other to survive. Yet, when both were safe and fed and under no threat of termination, their energy files buzzed like hyper active hornets. When they got within close proximity, it was like atoms smashing together. There was always an explosion, both sharing equal blame from the eruption.

Wheeljack could take notes, but then again, he would be even more dangerous than he already was. Thank Primus his spark didn't split and he had a twin.

Sideswipe rolled, planting his back against the wall, feeling the soft resonance of his brother's spark through the metal. It didn't matter what was placed between them. They could still feel each other. They may fight and argue, but the other spark was what soothed them in times of true distress. The knowledge that their other half was near, ready at a seconds notice to ease the torment and suffering that dwelled in darker moments.

Sunstreaker's back was against the wall, his optics offline as he recalled the numerous times their owners had separated them in punishment. The first hundred times or so had hurt like the pit, causing both younglings to cry and thrash. When they weren't reunited soon enough, convulsions would rack their tiny frames until they were placed together. Then both would split their chest plates and merge, falling into the abyss of each other and drowning in the torment. When they revived it was to endear the threats of separation from a loathsome master.

When the twins joined up and as inevitable the command staff found out about their unique disposition, much to the twins surprise their first stint in the brig, Prowl had put both in the same cell. Still angered and frustrated with each other from a perceived slight, both promptly beat the slag out of each other until Ratchet had to be called in and rush them into emergency surgery. When Prowl walked into med bay the next morning, it was to find both twins sharing a berth, Ratchet shrugging, unable to explain how the one had crawled across the ward to join his brother.

There were the few times, moreso as of as the twins started to mature, that they could handle being together for an extended period without trying to thrash the other. The command staff noticed it, Prowl even logging in the exact date and times for historical records. But it was as if the war calmed them down, gave them a focus that suited their abilities. They could work out their aggression against enemies and though Prime loathed the idea of taking a life, the twins were allowed free reign to bring down the decepticons. It was war after all.

Smokescreen, the know-it-all bastard, had a theory. He proceeded to schedule the twins for sessions, hoping his keen interest wouldn't unleash a homicidal rage with him in the epicenter.

With such horrible fights, devastation of global proportion, and the mentality that comes with those who put themselves habitually in harms way, it was a ticking bomb. It was wise to keep a trained audio on all of those who were exposed to the more dirtier sides of war. All units that Prime led had to undergo psyche evaluations, lest some bot snap and attack their leader. Prime himself wasn't exempt from these sessions.

The twins became the exception.

The first session Smokescreen thought was going great, until he realized the two were jerking his drive train. When their motives were uncovered their true personalities came out. And Smokescreen was unable to duck in time. He got knocked cold by a decoration that was suddenly 'airborne.' The next session, both twins barely made it over the threshold before flying into a temperamental rage and beating the slag out of each other.

Because of Sideswipe's latest little practical joke, the twins were stuck in the brig and one third of the troops had been lost before hailing a hollow victory. Sunstreaker's anger over being stuck in the brig for one of the more epic battles the Prime's unit had ever faced, was shouted with such vehemence, Smokescreen thought paint peeled from his walls.

But Smokescreen couldn't delve into the golden mechs psychology after that because an errant fist knocked him flat.

The third session had both twins stomping into the room, thudding their frames down into the seats, glaring at Smokescreen with such an intensity he found is door wings flickering despite himself. His anxiety only doubled at Sunstreaker's cruel, knowing smirk. He tried to still the tattling appendage but his pede started jumping from nervous habit and Sunstreaker's grin turned feral. Smokescreen shivered at the predatory look in the navy optics and Sunstreaker had offered a sneer before pouncing on the unsuspecting Praxian.

Before Smokescreen could call for help, Sunstreaker ran his hands over the sensitive door panels, and having shown his expertise with the frame type, pinched the focal sensors on each wing that caused a cascading sensory overload that put the Praxian in a reboot, his sensor grid screaming in pain when he woke up.

And found his office empty and crude language elegantly painted across his chassis.

Next session he turned off all sensors and earned the worst look yet. When he refused to budge under Sunstreaker's glare, Sideswipe initiated a punch fest that ended up into an all out brawl that earned Smokescreen busted furniture, door ripped completely off the hinges, and every window shattered.

**How** they managed to shatter impact glass used for interstellar travel, Smokescreen would never know.

Their last session and Smokescreen was treated for severe burns and trauma. So now when the twins fitness report came across his desk, he automatically passed them through.

But there was some truth to his theory. The twins had settled considerably since joining the Autobots

Smokescreen had started a betting pool that neither would last the war. Ratchet had scoffed, putting a hefty credit toward their continued existence. Smokescreen had to wonder sometimes if Ratchet didn't bring the twins back from the brink of the death just to keep from losing his bet.

But as time went on, the twins settled. Now they could be around other bots for extended periods and not beat the bolts out of them. Sunstreaker had started to socialize more, even letting some mechs watch him work when he stationed himself on the mountain and painted the mornings. Some had even commissioned pieces, buying Sunstreaker expensive wax and offering to buff his usually immaculate plates. The adulation kept him happy and the fights rarely brought out. But when they did, neither twin had problems with putting anyone under Ratchet's care, including each other.

The twins powered down, feeling safe inside their cages. Wheeljack had reinforced the brig after the twins' first stint a that burnt the place to the ground. After that, they were sheltered in a cell more befitting their violent nature.

And much to the twins surprise, not once did Prowl offer to separate them further than a cell or two apart. At best he stationed them on opposite sides so they could still see each other while speaking. When they realized his understanding of their unique, and rather volatile nature, they respected him. They hadn't burnt down the brig since, though a few cells had been known to have a few extra holes in their walls, curtsey of Sideswipe and his pile drivers.

"Do you think he will ever learn?" Sideswipe asked the darkness.

"Doubtful." came Sunstreaker's voice both over comms and out loud.

"I guess we'll have to keep at it," Sideswipe said, a smile on his face plates.

"I'm getting tired of training him," Sunstreaker muttered. "He should already be able to understand us."

"He's a work in progress," Sideswipe said, back pressed against the wall as if it was his twin.

Silence fell for a few moments; the only sound was the gentle hum of two bodies resting in their cells.

"I really didn't mean what I said," Sideswipe said, sending an apologetic wave over the bond.

"I know," Sunstreaker said, allowing the apology to flow through and sending a short nudge of affection before shutting down the emotion with a snap. It was enough for Sideswipe to latch onto.

"I always knew were you were a soft spark," Sideswipe grinned as if seeing his twin before him.

"Shut up," Sunstreaker snapped only half threatening.

Silence reign again for several long moments before Sideswipe broke through the Sunstreaker's drifting thoughts.

"Did you see where my aft plates went?" Sideswipe asked, feeling a draft along his back side.

He really didn't mean to taunt his brother into enacting a human expression. Sideswipe was sure there were tire marks across his protoform where his brother tried to exercise his flexibility in an attempt to shove his pede up his brothers aft.

Perhaps they went too far in their reenactment this time?

"I think Ratchet picked them up," Sunstreaker said, feeling a soreness in his pede. His brother's aft matched his helm in that both were dense. He wasn't going try that again! Leave it to the humans to think of an impossible feat that just ached to be exploited.

There came a soft grunt and hissing noises from Sideswipe's cell before his voice rang out. "I think you did some damage with your pede. My aft is killing me."

"My pede isn't feeling too good either," Sunstreaker admitted flexing his leg in an attempt to ward off the dull ache.

"But know you, that was still funny as the Pit!" Sideswipe grinned. His mirth was infection, bleeding over to Sunstreaker who matched his twin's sentiments.

"Yeah, I thought Prime was going to blow a gasket at the humans shocked looks," Sunstreaker added.

"It was fragging hilarious," Sideswipe said, sensing jovial affection over the bond, which was reciprocated.

"Agreed," Sunstreaker added.

"I had planned on doing that prank when it was only the American president visiting,' Sideswipe said, hearing laughter form the other cell. His brother should laugh more often. He had a nice laugh. And it was finally starting to come out, all thanks to the Autobots.

And now the poor, unsuspecting humans.

"I don't think I've seen so many appalled faces in all my life," Sunstreaker said. "It almost scrambled my circuits trying to keep up with all of their translators!"

"Me either," Sideswipe said with a snort.

"It was a brilliant plan," Sunstreaker said, earning a pleased feeling in return. It wasn't often Sideswipe was complimented on his pranks.

"Wonder who we should prank next?" Sideswipe asked.

"Everyone will be expecting something," Sunstreaker said feeling his systems start to power down for charge. "But whatever you come up with, will be brilliant."

Sideswipe beamed in the darkness. "Love you, Sunny."

'**Love you too Sides,'** Sunstreaker said over their link, refusing to say the words out loud.

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**Reviews would be loved. **


	69. Whose Side Are You On!

**Whose Side Are You On?**

*Points* This is BLUEBIRD SOARING's REQUEST. All related insanity is your fault!

Thank you to Starfire201 for the congrats on the milestone! I had not realized it was close to 1000 reviews until you mentioned I had went over.

"GUEST"… **THANK YOU** for all your wonderful reviews. At least I hope it's the same one and not many. If there's more than one reviewing, my apologies! I always send messages to reviewers and without a sign in name, I have no way to thank you personally.

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"What you're suggesting will get someone killed!" Prowl snapped, optics boring into Sideswipe's.

'What if it's someone we don't like?" Sideswipe retaliated. "Would you attempt it _**then**_?"

"If we allowed everyone we didn't like to be terminated, then the world would be empty," Prowl responded, a door wing flicking in time with his words.

"No, there'd be one mech left. The survivor." Sideswipe countered.

The twitching door wing stopped. Prowl's optics narrowed, a growl threatening low in his chassis.

"It would be wiser to fortify the northern region," Prowl said, his voice stern, hard, in an attempt to control his emotions. Most bots claimed he didn't possess emotions. All they had to do was witness him near Sideswipe and they would be proven wrong. How the ruby mech was able to bring the normally, calm, centered tactician to enraged, boiling anger, Prowl doubted he'd ever understand.

"It's already a heavily fortified territory," Sideswipe said, taking a step toward Prowl. "The troops should be pulled from that area and use to reinforce a _weak_ area**."**

"Who is the tactician of this army?" Prowl asked, not backing down.

"Apparently a mech with tin struts." Sideswipe jeered.

"Your plan proposes that we could lose the north quadrant," Prowl snapped, doorwings now held in rigid formation. It looked painful.

"We need to reinforce the left flank on the southern region," Sideswipe said, pointing to the indicated region.

"But that will leave us vulnerable in the north," Prowl said, his face etched in annoyance**.** How dare Sideswipe question his tactical abilities! It was beyond insulting!

"That is a strong hold and we have more than ample defenses for it," Sideswipe said. "The protection there is overkill. We need to move a third of the soldiers to the southern region."

"Our hold there is tedious." Prowl snapped. "To send troops there will alter the balance. The northern quadrant is our best chance at victory. To send troops away from there would weaken its defenses."

"Oh for Primus sake!" Sideswipe snapped, throwing his hands up in the air in mock defeat. "Sending a third of the battalion to another sector isn't going to weaken the system so severely that the whole structure collapses! What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _**me**_?" Prowl growled, fists forming at his sides. "What's wrong with **you**? You wish to send troops into a heavily occupied area that technically has no strategic stronghold to speak of! And you expect me to endanger **more** lives on the off chance it will be lost?"

"You going to say something?" Bluestreak asked in a hushed voice. He didn't like seeing the calm tactician raging and glaring. It didn't seem natural. Altercations between allies made Bluestreak nervous.

"No," Sunstreaker answered just as softly. "I'm not getting in the middle of this."

Bluestreak gave a nod of affirmation, his optics going to the two arguing mechs like a verbal tennis match. His door wings were fluttering in an agitated way. He was clearly worried that the confrontation would turn physical.

"The south holds strategic value," Sideswipe said in hopes of appealing to Prowl's battle computer.

The tactic didn't work. Prowl's doorwings hitched even higher, his brow ridges following. "I fail to see your point."

"The southern quadrant has one strategic advantage," Sideswipe snarled, tired of dancing around the subject. They needed to get themselves mobilized.

"Enlighten me," Prowl said, sarcasm dripping from his vocalizer.

"The upper peninsula is a main trade route," Sideswipe said, sneering his words. "If the trade route becomes compromised, it can disrupt supply lines to the enemy."

"A diversionary route is accessible a just short distance away," Prowl said, giving Sideswipe a superior look that grated on the Lamborghini's circuits. "If we stretch our resources to further impede the enemy, then we are spreading ourselves too thin and leaving ourselves open for attack!"

"Sometimes you have to take chances," Sideswipe answered

"Not in war!" Prowl snarled, his optics flashing as his doorwings gave a sharp flick as if warding off a buzzing pest. "Such tactics are rudimentary and will lose us not only troops, but ground as well."

"But there is always a chance, and sometimes it's the _chances _you have to take," Sideswipe countered.

"Not when lives are at stake!" Prowl shouted, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

"They know the enemy can hear them, right?" Bluestreak muttered, wincing when Prowl's voice rose in volume. His optics glanced around the room, noting that the fiasco was the center of attention. Bluestreak's doorwings continued to bob with apprehension.

Sunstreaker gave a slow nod, watching the two verbal combatants posturing like over-inflated mechs after a sumptuous femme.

"The southern region also allows us to attack the enemy from a weak flank," Sideswipe said, adopting a childish sneer when he noted Prowl's expression falter. "We reinforce our troops and attack their weak side and may take possession of the territory, thus enabling us to create a southern stronghold."

"There is a thirty percent chance of success," Prowl said, as if this statistic would thwart Sideswipe and his crazy scheme. "But if we maintain the northern quadrant, we have the upper hand and access to the best resources."

"And concentrating our troops in one area will only ensure we lose ground," Sideswipe growled, slamming his fist down to punctuate his words. "We've taken too many steps back! It's time to regain ground instead of losing it!"

"**I** am the one in charge of this Army!" Prowl snapped, standing nearly nose to nose with the usurper of his rule.

"You wouldn't be if Prime was here!" Sideswipe retorted. "He'd see reason and know when it was right to take a chance!"

"Prime would never commit such a blind, idiotic folly!" Prowl snapped back.

Sunstreaker watched the bantering from the opposite side of the game board, Bluestreak, his partner, staring in abject stupefaction.

"Think we should break them up?' Bluestreak asked.

"No," Sunstreaker said, looking bored with the situation.

A minute passed by with Sideswipe and Prowl still arguing over where to send their pieces and the best possible attack and counterattack strategy. Bluestreak looked over to Sunstreaker with a strained, forced happiness expression.

"Wheeljack made some magnesium sticks," he said. "You want to go get some?"

"Sure," Sunstreaker said leaving the arguing mechs to their opposite strategies.

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So, who saw that one coming?

Next two chapters will be my ideas and then I can get back to requests. I'm not quite done with the ones I've been working on and hopefully the extra couple of weeks will buy me some time to get them finished and edited.


	70. And Awaken Unto the Sun

**AND AWAKEN UNTO THE SUN**

*taps on microphone* Hello? Anybody out there?

Rated: T (mentions of non-con and acts of war)

Guest 1: Sideswipe and Prowl are oil and water. I think Prowl was more pissed that Sideswipe thinks he can outplan someone who was handpicked by Prime himself to run his strategic maneuvers.

Guest 2: Frontliners are not stupid, Prowl's figuring that out. It takes a certain amount of intelligence to be able to attack in patterns and assess a situation for best possible outcomes. Prowl doesn't seem to have realized the twins perform _his_ job every time they step out onto the battlefield. ;)

Guest 3: I'm not sure what they were playing. I'm positive though, that its nothing that's combustible. I'm sure Wheeljack was commissioned to create Cybertronian versions of human games but with materials that cant be destroyed. They are a rather 'rambunctious' group. And Thank you so much on the congrats.

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Bombs dropped, missiles sang, voices shouted. The cacophony of the battlefield. The pain, the sorrow, the hurt, the lives lost. It was existence in its worst, vile, striped away to pure instinctual base level of depravity and the worst that was brought out in any species. Those who perished rarely went silently, most lingering on scorched, hardened terrain as their life was painted upon the mantle of their homeworld. Regardless of planet, regardless of origin, war and destruction were not for the faint of spirit.

Devastation, that's what covered the face of the planet. It was on its cracked and scarred surface. On the faces of its people. A feeling in the very essence that pulsed within their bodies. Like love, it was an emotion that was so strong; it could be seen as a tangible thing and not just a reaction. It became a mask, covering everything with its ash.

It was painted, in vivid detail on every survivor of Prime's unit. The Prime had taken a severe hit. To affect repairs, the contingent had sought shelter in a partial bombed structure. Thinking that the enemy would pass the dilapidated building by and not think twice to probe into the inner workings of the building, the band of Autobots sheltered themselves and waited signs of back up. The medic was working furiously over the Prime's chest plates, sealing off lines and even ripped off one of his own armaments to place over the weld scar to give it further protection.

'Hold still you stubborn slagger," Ratchet said, soldering the last piece into place. "I almost have you patched up.'

"It's not that bad," Prime argued.

"I make that call, not you," Ratchet said, finding the crude, but sufficient patch job to meet his standards. When they got back to Iacon he as going to have the Prime under his scalpel for many long hours to fix the rest of the damage. Thankfully most of it wasn't life threatening. But the cracked chest plate made the leader's spark vulnerable.

"Sir," Jazz said, winding his way through the debris.

Ratchet had sequestered the Prime in another room, not wanting the other troops to see the extent of the damage. Ratchet stood, addressing Jazz as thunderous as any Prime of old.

"What is the status of the other soldiers?"

"There's nothing life threatening. I was able to get the lines sealed off so no one is in danger of bleeding out," Jazz reported, not liking the dim optics of his leader. There was a large puddle of crusting energon below the large frame. "But we lost four soldiers. Two were vaporized by a blast. One was shot through the spark chamber and the other was crawling for safety when a seeker landed on top of him, crushing him instantly."

"Not good odds," Ratchet muttered. He checked his inventory, discreetly omitting the details of his dwindling supplies. Most of the soldiers had already been patched up during the initial attack but each time they lost ground and regrouped, there were more injuries and Ratchet's subspace only held so much. His main focus was to Prime, then the others fell into a triage that went unspoken through their ranks.

"Any word on back up?" Prime asked, his voice sounding tired and though he tried to hide it, pained. He didn't like the casualty report. It always gave him a sick feeling in his tank.

Jazz shifted, noting that Prime had twice the amount of dings, scratches, and broken glass. One elbow was immobile from the last 'hide and patch' session that Ratchet had performed before they had been found and scattered to seek safer grounds.

"Sir," a voice called from outside from the room.

Jazz took the initiative and went to the door, blocking the view of the inside as best as his small frame could allow.

"What is it Hound?" he asked.

Hound stood patiently a few paces away fro the door. His headlights were busted and his left hip was dented, making him walk an uneven gait.

"There's something I think you see need to see, Sir," Hound said, jerking his head toward the direction of interest.

Jazz looked over his shoulder, locking optics with Ratchet before adding, "I'll be back in an astrosecond. Keep me appraised."

Ratchet gave a solemn nod, returning to scan over Prime's frame, searching for anything he may have missed. When a satisfactory beep answered his query he handed the Prime a cube of medical grade before taking his leave to attend the others. Jazz was correct in that they were in need of decent repair, though none of their injuries was life threatening. Small miracle of Primus.

"There are some inner rooms, and some of them are occupied," Hound said as the duo ventured further into the structure. Over half the building was slagged, most support beams bowed and melted from the impact of a missile. There were a few rooms where the roof had caved in, puddles of energon signaling the loss of yet more lives.

Jazz peeked into the rooms that were intact and much to his surprise, there were an assortment of mechs and femmes. Each was placed in a room, on a berth, lines running into the systems and powered by small self sustaining berths.

"Do you know what this place is?" Hound asked, nodding to the four rooms that were no bigger than cells in the brig.

"No medical designations on any of the surfaces," Jazz said, looking to the doors and walls for scientific notations. "No decoration or sigils to designate what these rooms are. Any designation on the bot who lived here?"

"Nothing personal as far as I can tell," Hound said. He turned his concerned gaze into one of the rooms, his optics sweeping over four immobile forms. There was just the berths. No personal items nor storage places to store trinkets. It was cold, utilitarian. Just like the brig. "Do you get the feeling this is a detention center?"

"Sparse and unmarked living quarters?" Jazz muttered, a frown creasing his face. "But I don't think that's what this is. I see no marks from reprimand or other forms of punishment. And if they were in a detention center, their bodies aren't kept. Their sparks and consciousness are stored in a memory cube."

"So, what are they?" Hound asked, his voice dropping as if it was the proper thing to do.

"They're a collection," came Ratchet's voice from a few doors down. He had followed the duo and was glancing into the window of an occupied room. "This was an influential mechs estate. These are his… _**acquisitions**_."

"What do you mean?" Hound asked his voice sounding sickened at the thought.

"Those in power can … _purchase_…. Any number of things to suit their whims," Ratchet said, nodding to the closed door in front of him.

"But, isn't that illegal?" Hound asked. He was new to the world of war and the atrocities that had been committed under his very olfactory sensor. He had no clue to the depravity of his fellow Cybertronians. At least, until recently. War had opened his optics to things he now combated every evening in his charge. His answer came in the form of Jazz's terse nod.

"These femmes have been used as receptive ports.' Ratchet said, not even blushing from the taboo explanation. "There is still dried transfluid on them."

"So…what?" Jazz asked, trying to wrap his processor around the idea that someone was using others for their own personal release valve. "Some mech kept them here to what? Interface with them?"

Ratchet palmed the door and stepped inside, earning a bark of reprimand from Jazz. As usual he paid no heed to Jazz's hissed warnings.

"They're all in stasis," Ratchet said, checking over the small readouts on the berths. "They berths have their own power and energon supply to keep the frames alive while the owner, does what he wants to the unconscious participants."

"What should we do?" Hound asked. He was secretly glad he wasn't the one making the decision. Who knows how long these bots had been under a stasis spell. Some didn't come out of it in good humor. Others, the more dependant ones, faded away as their body could no longer sustain itself.

"We wake them up," Jazz said, looking to Ratchet, his expression dark with conviction.

"It would be unkind to let them fall prey to the Deceptions," Ratchet said, tapping in a code on the medical berth to override its main function. The first bed powered down as Ratchet went to he second. "At least this way they have a chance of surviving and not being crushed by an abandoned home."

The last berth gave a clumsy falter as Ratchet imputed the code. It was a second before he realized why.

"This femme is sparked," Ratchet said, nodding to the bright red femme.

Though capturing a bot and keeping them unconscious while doing unspeakable things to them was bad enough, now one of them was sparked up by an unknown mech, and it was only a mech, due to the copious amounts of transfluid that was found both in and on the bodies as systems started the slow cycle to wake them from their deep hibernation.

"We'll need to find a youngling shell," Ratchet said, disengaging the sparked femme. "She will be due soon."

"Stay with them, but speak slow and carefully,' Ratchet said, as the first optics started to flutter in response. "It's going to take their processors some time to catch up, depending on how long they've been depending on the operating system."

"Where are you going?" Hound asked, sounding panicked at the thought of being stuck in a room with four awaking femme, one of whom was sparked.

"I'm going to wake the others," Ratchet said, hearing a distant boom. "The sooner they can snap out of it the sooner we can get moving and they can get back to Iacon."

Jazz gave a nod of understanding, though a part of him wondered how in the name of Primus they were going to be able to move out with so many new innocents to protect. They were broken, beaten, battered, and low on energon and medical field units. To add extra bodies to an already overtaxed group of soldiers was going to make the going even more difficult, especially if the awakening bots knew nothing of the wartime regime.

Ratchet disappeared without another look. The next room housed one mech and by his ultra sleek lines he was a fast model. Ratchet powered down his station and went to the next room, hearing Jazz speaking to the femmes to calm their fearful chatter.

Jazz took it upon himself to follow in Ratchet's wake, putting the awakened bots at ease with his charming smile and easy going nature. They instantly trusted him. Hound excused himself from the group and disappeared in the first room where the femmes had been found. Jazz paid him no mind, his attention centered on the collection of mechs and femmes that just woke from one nightmare into another.

Ratchet finished a room with three mechs and went to the last room, finding two more mechs. He went to the first and started the sequence then felt this systems freeze. An icy chill crept up his spinal strut as if something otherworldly was trying to take possession. He shivered, his hands punching the last set of codes with a more force than necessary. He turned and felt his breathing function halt. It was unusual to find bots that had been kept as secret treasures but it wasn't so unusual the owners went to great length to keep them sedated and compliant, and also took the time to make sure they were polished and presentable. If the owner ever wanted to show off his prized collection, he didn't want them looking dirty, scuffed, or dull.

Whatever the owner used on his possessions was expensive, as all of them had a beautiful luster that would get them unfriendly attention, but there was something about the hue of the last mech. His armor was pliant, yet sturdy. It must have been custom made, and by the specifications popping up in Ratchet's scans, it was a dense alloy. The properties of the armor were not the thing that captured Ratchet's attention. It was the color.

Cybertron's sun had once shone like that. It just wasn't a _gold_, it was orange and yellow and white and fire cast into physical form and given a spark. The face attached to the armor wasn't bad to look at either, but the color was most certainly a prime target for any Con wanting to add to his termination tally. Ratchet typed in the code, powering down the station. And no sooner had the power went off than the optics flared to life, shining like an eternal sun. They blazed white, slowly dulling to an icy blue, the mechs lip plates curling as his consciousness returned. Ratchet spun, and nearly crammed his olfactory sensor into the silent wraith that now stood behind him.

He never even heard the mech remove himself from the berth!

"Who….are…. you?" the red mech asked in a slow, static filled voice.

"My designation is Ratchet," he said, "I am the CMO of the Autobots. We took refuge in what we thought was a shelled out building when we found your stasis rooms."

Ratchet didn't need his proximity sensors to tell him that something large, hot, and formidable just rose against his back, boxing him in. He could feel warm ex-vents around his neck and helm.

"Medic?" the red one asked, his vocalizer giving a sharp buzz that wavered in pitch. He noted the medical sigil adorning the bot. Along with the red insignia of a faction he was unfamiliar with. It must have been the mark of the Autobot's, whoever they were.

"Yes, I'm a medic," Ratchet said, his optics narrowing at the mechs throat. "I can take a look at your vocalizer if you want."

The mech gave one dip of his head of affirmation and when Ratchet reached up to touch the red mech, the golden one at his back stepped closer. Ratchet could swear his spark beat was matched in rhythm between the two mechs. He fought the impulse to sputter his vents and bolt from the room. With a tentative servo Ratchet found the problem and soldered the lose wire into place in the voice box.

"Thanks," the mech said, his voice deep. "The designation is Sideswipe. And the mech behind you is my brother, Sunstreaker."

Ratchet gave a look over his shoulder, noting that Sunstreaker's chin was almost resting on his shoulder the mech was so close. If his brother was going to be attacked, he'd be perfectly positioned to avenge his termination.

Ratchet felt that cold chill run up his dorsal line again. He wanted to turn around but with both mechs currently sandwiching him between them, he couldn't turn in either direction.

"Would you like me to check you're vocalizer?" Ratchet asked over his shoulder. It was hurting his neck cables to crane his helm in such a way.

"It's fine," came the bass timber that made Ratchet quiver despite himself.

"Ratchet?" Jazz called out, stepping in the doorway and finding his CMO between to mechs. "How're you doing?"

"We're fine, Jazz,' Ratchet said, pretending to be looking over the wide red chassis in front of him for some sort of minor repair. "Meet Sideswipe and Sunstreaker."

"Pleasure," Jazz said with a crooked grin. Just as he spoke, a piece of armor fell off and clattered to the floor. Jazz turned his guilty visor to the offending metal and muttered a soft, "Opps."

"And just when were you going to tell me how damaged you were?" Ratchet snarled, forgetting about the mech box he was in. He spun, clanging into both of the awakened mechs who arched their brow ridges in shock as the medic stormed over to the smaller mech, picked up the piece of armor and grasped the black and white mech by his scruff bar. "Do I have to remind you on the protocol that states you are to list any potential dehabilitating injury to your medical officer?"

"It's just a minor injury," Jazz protested, being marched by his scruff bar by a thundering white medic.

"This minor injury serves as a critical junction for two major functions and if it's weakened, it means _**you**_ become a target," Ratchet snarled, planting the smaller mech against the far wall and shoving him down to the floor. "Now hold still before I get rough."

"He's not normally this gruff," Jazz said to the now startled mechs and femmes who had been awakened.

Ratchet paid no mind. He scanned Jazz's midsection and found more than just one 'minor' injury. It was a wonder the small mech was walking at all with his busted rotors and two energon leaks.

"You'll need a hose replacement and a weld patch to your transformation calibrator," Ratchet said, not worried about the newly awakened. Every bot, regardless of situation, recognized the medical designations and submitted accordingly. Well, most bots did. There were the few thick helmed idiots that seemed to gravitate toward Ratchet's unit. Or maybe it was the influence of the Prime who had the same kind of flaw? Either way, Ratchet spent more of his time _chasing_ his patients than repairing them. Honestly, one would think the Pit Master was after their sparks with the way they behaved.

"Ratchet, do you have any cubes?" Hound asked, forgoing any pleasantries with the strange group.

"Only one that is full," Ratchet said as he pulled off a flexible plate from Jazz's midsection to get to the damage.

"Any empties?" Hound asked, chancing a glance to the two mechs who had stood in the doorway and observed the scene with keen interest.

"Several. Why?" Ratchet said, his tone as neutral as if discussing the weather patterns as he clipped, burnt, and soldered inside of Jazz who wisely remained immobile.

"I'm draining the berths for energon," Hound said, going to Ratchet's side and kneeling down beside of him. "I've already filled two but I ran out of cubes."

"Subspace level six and seven," Ratchet said, angling his hip to allow Hound access to his subspace pocket. The panel clicked aside and Hound shoved his servo inside, feeling around for the empty cubes. "Smart processing, by the way."

Hound grinned at the compliment while Jazz looked thunderstruck. With a noise of triumph, Hound extracted several cubes. Ten empty cubes stood stacked beside of the scout as he fumbled around inside Ratchet's pocket before the medic gave a grunt and shifted.

"You found them all," Ratchet said, finishing up with soldering a line in Jazz.

"Thanks," Hound said, rising with five empty cubes in his arms. Much to his surprise the two silent observing mechs stepped forward, relieving him of his burden.

"We can help," the red one said, his tone meaning there was no argument against the offer.

"I appreciate it," Hound said with a nervous smile. He handed half of the cubes to the red mech but before he could divide the remaining ones, the golden mech had lifted them with ease and followed the red mech down the hall.

"I ran out on the second room to your left," Hound called as he limped behind them.

Both mechs disappeared into the room and much to Hound's relief and surprise, both knew how to operate the medical stasis berths. It didn't take long to fill the ten remaining cubes. When they started to store them in their own subspace pockets, Hound cleared his vents, unsure of their motives.

"There's a dozen injured mechs with us, including the Prime," Hound said, watching as both mechs slowed their actions, listening. "We've been running for some time and all of us are in need of fuel."

"And you carry no spare?" the gold mech asked, his optics shining like a bright star.

"Already went through the rations," Hound explained. "We've been trying to make it back to Autobot lines but every time we get close, we're discovered."

Hound watched, curious, as the two mechs looked to each other. The usual hum of comm. chatter was absent. He stared, wondering why they were looking at each other so intently. When the golden one gave a nod toward his red counterpart, Hound understood. They were bondmates. Communications over spark bonds wouldn't register to outside observation. It would make sense, seeing how both had been placed together in the unknown owner's collection.

"How far to the Autobot line?" Sideswipe asked.

"Last time we attempted, it was about forty kliks west of here," Hound answered, noticing both mechs empty the stored cubes from their subspace. Apparently they understood the urgent need for fuel by the ones who were injured.

"Anyone severely injured and will slow us down?" Sideswipe asked, opening a panel on the berth and extracting a couple of power cells.

"Prime was hit near the spark chamber and a couple of bots are missing pedes," Hound reported, having been just a few meters away from the mech when he was shot. Thankfully no other had seen the extent of the injury. "But everyone is functional."

"Speaking of Prime,' Jazz said, leaning against the door frame, one arm wrapped around his middle. Ratchet must have done a few more repairs than just simple patching, if the dulled visor was any indication. "He's wanting a full status report and civilian count."

"We're almost done," Sideswipe said, a smile crossing his face plates. It looked strained, almost, fake. Without another word he went to the other berths and removed their power sources and stowed them in his subspace. He looked to the gold mech and added, "Scavenge the other berths, Sunny."

"It's Sun_streaker_," he amended with a threatening rumble. He locked gazes with his counterpart before turning and disappearing through the door without a sound. Jazz cocked an optical ridge at the stealth the golden mech displayed.

"Prime wants to meet everyone," Jazz said, looking away from Sunstreaker's retreating form back to Sideswipe.

"Sunny isn't very social," Sideswipe explained, lifting several of the filled cubes and walking toward Jazz.

Hound struggled to balance the remainder and followed suit, giving his commanding officer a grateful smile when he took some of the burden.

"This way," Jazz said, nodding down the hall where the last of the rescued bots were being lead back to the Autobots by Ratchet.

There was the sound of rending metal coming from one of the rooms, no doubt Sunstreaker was scavenging for the power supply Sideswipe mentioned. Why they needed the small battery cells, Jazz didn't know. They couldn't power a bot, let alone give anyone a boost they would need in a firefight. Most of the weapons that their company still possessed used different power sources than a medical berth, so the reason for collecting the parts seemed trivial to Jazz.

Perhaps the two wanted to trade the parts on the open market for passage off planet, or maybe used to barter for any number of goods and trade? With the war now going on full, parts were in short supply. Maybe the two just wanted to have a little tradable commodity if they didn't wish Autobot protection.

"Shall we let him know we're leaving?" Jazz asked, hearing the unmistakable sound of a berth being dismantled.

"He'll find us when he's done," Sideswipe said, casting a look toward the noise, then heading in the opposite direction.

"So, are you two bondmates?" Hound asked as they walked. He wanted to keep the atmosphere amicable, because if the Decepticons decided to attack again, he doubted very much that the injured mechs could defend civilians. He didn't want to speak that fear out loud.

"I guess you could say that," Sideswipe said with a nonchalant voice. "He's my brother."

"Oh! A family unit!" Hound said with a grin, excitement over the fact of finding a family with more than one survivor to be something to celebrate.

"You glitching?" Sideswipe asked, giving the green mech a sideways glance of suspicion.

"No, I just like the idea of saving a family," Hound said, giving a nervous laugh.

Sideswipe noticed the mechs cheek plates turning pewter and realized he was being truthful. It was a strange sentiment, one that Sideswipe was unfamiliar with. Another thing Sideswipe was unfamiliar greeted his optics when he turned the last corner after Jazz.

There were at least a dozen mechs all in various states of injury and some close to stasis. The thing that captured Sideswipe's attention was the fact that the Prime, the leader of the planet, was on his knees, helping to wrap a thermal bandage around a mech's wounded leg. It was something one normally didn't see every day.

The upper class_** never**_ catered to the lower caste. To see a mech of standing, especially a **Prime**, kneeling and doing a menial task like caring for a wounded ground soldier…. It was humbling and startling.

Sideswipe cocked an eye ridge, watching as the injured talked freely with the Prime, speaking to him as their equal and not the famed leader that came with the prestige of bearing the Matrix. It was then Sideswipe noticed that all bore the red sigil upon their person.

"Here," Hound said to a minibot, kneeling down and handing him one of the pilfered cubes.

Sideswipe narrowed his optics, watching as the minibot only drank half the cube then much to Sideswipe's shock, handed it over to the mech beside of him. Muttering a word of thanks, he took it and downed the cube, his optics brightening with the added charge.

Hound wandered through the wounded mechs, handing out his cubes. When he was done, he turned to Sideswipe, his servos out in expectation. Without word, Sideswipe followed behind the green mech, helping him to distribute the cubes. Much to his continued surprise, ever mech thanked him, two of which were barely conscious but retained enough mentality to thank the servo that helped steady their fuel.

One yellow minibot looked half terminated. A servo was burnt to cinder black, his left pede was missing, and the servo clutching his rifle looked too small to even touch the trigger. Apparently he wasn't the weapon's original owner. When Sideswipe handed him a cube, the mech's servo shook at he extended it to take the fuel, but fell lax against his body from lack of energy.

Some strange sensation welled up in Sideswipe. He knelt, just as the esteemed Prime, and held the cube to the minibot's lip plates.

"Thanks," the yellow bot muttered before taking a few sips. As the fuel hit his systems, his optics brightened. His servo came up and helped to steady the cube he was being fed. When it was half gone, he pulled away and nodded. "You finish the rest."

"My systems are operating at full capacity," Sideswipe admitted. Without accepting protest he made the minibot down the entire cube.

So caught up in the exchange of energon and gratitude, Sideswipe missed the introductions of the new bots and the battered soldiers. His audios didn't perceive his designation over the chatter of the crowd by Jazz. He barely discerned the welcome by the Prime and the offer of shelter in Iacon, and the option of joining the Autobots.

Sideswipe's attentionhad drifted to focuson a mech not much younger than himself. There were growth seams around his joints and a couple of primary junctures. His optics was a deep blue and door wings fluttered on his back. A rifle lay across his lap as he picked broken glass from his chassis.

Prime surveyed the newly awakened bots, noting there were five femmes and eight mechs. All had high polish shines that looked out of place with the battered and broken soldiers. The femmes huddled together, the fast model mech blending right in with them as they cowered away. Either they were terrified of the world they just woken to, or they were suitably impressed by the Matrix bearer.

Ratchet was standing to the side of his Prime, his scanner deployed and aimed with sneaky intent. Everything registered as normal, except for a small blip on his screen. Frowning, Ratchet realized it was a residual ping from another nearby source.

As Ratchet ran his scan, he noted that there was definitely something wrong. A quick dialogistic alerted him that it wasn't his systems that were fragged up. Someone _else_ **was**. And by the proximity detector in his attuned frame, it was coming from the ruby colored mech who called himself Sideswipe. Out of curiosity, Ratchet stepped closer and deployed his diagnostic sneak attack. And couldn't stop the startled intake and wide bright optics that signaled his understanding.

As if knowing what caused the medic such surprise, Sideswipe stepped away from the last injured mech, his spark telling him his twin was nearing his position. He waited until gold flickered in his field of vision before looking to the still stunned medic.

"Go on, tell everyone how abnormal we are," Sideswipe said in a tone that sounded conversational and polite. "Tell the Prime what you discovered. Go ahead and tell him and we can get that little fact out in the open and we can go our separate ways. There will be no need to get hostile, nor to attempt to terminate us."

"Why would we do such a thing?" Prime asked, stepping forward and placing himself between Sideswipe and Ratchet. He didn't like the statuesque Ratchet nor the dangerously calm ruby colored mech Jazz called Sideswipe.

Sideswipe's expression faltered slightly his optics bore into the stern, worried face of the Autobot leader. He could have sworn he could hear the hum of the artifact within the powerful frame in front of him.

Sunstreaker joined his twin, their shoulders nearly touching. His expression was dark, scowling into the Prime's face as if he was any other threat. There was no reverence in his frozen optics.

"Any attempt at subduing or terminating us will be met with _**extreme**_ hostility," Sunstreaker said, his frame vibrating with the building energy.

"What are you talking about?" Prime asked, he wasn't perturbed by their defensive state. He was more worried as to what would make them automatically think they were to be hunted and destroyed.

"They're twins," Ratchet said quietly, having regained his composure.

That statement met dead silence. Finally, after an eternity, someone spoke up.

"What's a twin?" Jazz asked, looking to Ratchet with a blank expression.

"It's a rare occurrence when one spark resides within two frames," Ratchet said, stepping around Prime and looking to the defensive pair. "They're has only been one other set in recorded history."

Hound came up behind the twins, flanked by Jazz. The twins tensed, but instead of hostile intent, they felt curious optics on them. It was nothing like what they were used to experiencing. The twin's helms tilted toward one another every so slightly, the golden one flexing while the red one gave twitches meant to be calming.

"Communicating…," Jazz muttered, earning half glances from the pair. He noted their posture and brief optic contact of scared affirmation before Jazz's face split into a grin and he laughed. "Primus! You **are** communicating over a bond! It's just not a spark bond. At least, not like how it is as we know it."

"Amazing," Hound said looking between the two. "I expected such a bond when I noticed you earlier but I never would have guessed it was something as unique as a split spark. Tell me, does you sparks hurt? Are you in pain now and require help?'

"Why would we need help?" Sideswipe asked taking a step to the side, Sunstreaker followed him as an exact copy on the other side. The twins now stood facing each other, Ratchet and Prime on one side, Hound and Jazz on the other, making a strange boxy configuration.

"What to you mean, their spark_ split_?" the small yellow minibot asked. He was the one that Sideswipe helped to ingest fuel. The one missing a servo and half a leg.

"One spark, divided in half, each half taking a frame," Ratchet said, staring between the two as if they were the most interesting things on the planet. Both twins felt their fuel pumps falter. They knew that look. Nothing good came from it.

"But they look fine to me," the small minibot said, looking at the two mechs who claimed to be only half a spark.

"It's abnormal," one of the rescued mechs said, taking a step away as if he afraid of being contaminated. He was the fast racing model that had been huddled with the femmes.

The minibot turned lopsided optics to the mech and growled, "They are _unique_. That doesn't mean they deserve your fear, pity, or hatred. In fact, I think this is a good sign."

"_Good _sign?" the mech gasped. "Have you taken a hit to the helm? There is nothing **good** about them!"

"It's a sign from Primus," the minibot said, looking to the twins who wore identical stunned expressions. They had never been defended before, especially not from a minibot. "They are a miracle and Primus knew we would need a miracle. And look, he sent _**two**_."

There came sounds of laser fire in the distance. Someone gave a whimper, the newly awakened bots huddled together for protection. The busted soldiers grabbed their weapons, half of them barely able to hold a gun, let alone fire it at an enemy. But the determination shone in their optics. They were not going to go down without a fight.

The twins could respect that.

"So, while we've been charging, who's the bot that's leading this crazy war?" Sideswipe asked, going to the yellow minibot and easily pulling a rifle from his weak grip.

The minibot frowned but didn't protest. He struggled to his pede and held out his servo, expecting his weapon back. Much to his surprise, Sideswipe spun, ignoring his silent request and walked away. Another bot caught the struggling yellow bot before he toppled over.

"Megatron," Prime answered.

"Pit," Sunstreaker growled, his frame shifting like an eruption about to happen.

"Megatron?" Sideswipe repeated as if not believing his audios. "The one from the Kaon pits?"

"That's him,' Ratchet confirmed, making Sunstreaker fill the room with an audible growl.

"He leads this uprising," Prime said, his rifle appearing from subspace as the sounds of approaching battle drew near.

"He was in Kaon with us," Sideswipe said, not carrying who was within earshot of him. "We helped him to break out of Kaon, and when he tried to recruit us into a more… elaborate… campaign, we refused."

'And the slagger** sold** us like a slave trader!" Sunstreaker snarled, making even the seasoned warriors step away from the igniting ball of flame.

"We were immobilized and sold to put on display here for amusement." Sideswipe said, his fists curling at his sides. "We owe that slagger a debt."

"He's earned himself the Pit," Sunstreaker sneered, making energon lines run cold from the tone and volume.

Even Jazz stepped away.

A building shuddered in the distance, its walls thundering like many heavy footfalls. None of the newly awakened bots had experienced something as traumatic as a war, let alone sensing the danger that their world was about to collapse on their helms. Weapons fire could be hear from the street, punctuated by shouts and sounds of mechs in pain.

"I don't know how much more we can take, Prime," Ratchet said, looking to the assorted soldiers who were busted, broken, burnt, and exhausted.

"Who is the best shot?" Sunstreaker asked, looking to the assorted mismatched mechs.

"Me," came a timid voice from the doorwinged mech that captured Sideswipe's attention. He held up his rifle, the scope and charge pack only used by those in the sniper trade.

"Anyone else?" Sunstreaker asked.

"I'm a good shot," Jazz said, frowning at the golden mech, trying to discern his motive.

"Good," Sunstreaker said, nodding to the sparse weapons. "The two of you station yourselves in opposite corners, giving you the best vantage point to take down anyone who gets past us." Sunstreaker looked to the yellow minibot who was determined to fight and added, "The rest of you, give your weapons to the snipers to provide cover. Sideswipe and I will need a couple of those weapons as well."

"Allow us," Sideswipe said, looking to a more severely injured mech. He held out his servos and said in a stern, commanding voice, "Give me your weapon."

"Why should I?" the mech protested, his only remaining arm sparking and allowing his gun to fall lax. He frowned at the traitorous appendage.

"We will need two, maybe three each," Sideswipe said, going to another mech and pulling his gun from his grip with sputtering curses. "Those who are less injured, set up a perimeter around those who are compromised. If the snipers don't shoot them, you **do**."

"And _**no one**_ leave this shelter until one of us comes and gets you." Sunstreaker added, opening his subspace and extracting some of the power cells he robbed from the berths. He tossed several to Sideswipe, who caught them with practiced ease.

"We don't take orders from you," Jazz said, his critical optic now on the two unknowns.

"Just stay out of our way and you won't get slagged," Sunstreaker said, making Jazz's spark falter from the tone and the look on the mechs handsome face.

Weapons fire sounded close by, making those unused to such sounds cower and click like sparklings. The shouts were becoming louder as well. There was the drumming sound of rounds striking a building and echoing like a bass beat.

Sideswipe turn to the group, his optics on Prime. "We'll take care of this. Keep everyone safe."

There was something about Sideswipe's look. Whether it was the set determination of his jaw. The strength of his voice. Or maybe the glimmer of something tangible, about to be unleashed, but a part of Prime, the part that was connected to the Matrix, knew he could trust these two.

"You have my word," Prime said with a nod.

Sideswipe gave a slight smile, calling to his brother. "Sunny?" Sideswipe gave a knowing look to the collection of mechs and called, his face twisting into a cruel mask, "Lead the way, bro."

Sunstreaker's expression turned predatory, his icy optics draining to white. A feral curl was on his lip plates as he shot out through the exit like a golden blur. Sideswipe didn't acknowledge those witnessing the transformation. He merely allowed it to happen, like so many times before. His own expression went wild, hungry, his optics going to a golden white. With a noise of primal hunger he raced out of the building after his twin.

"Oh, Primus," Ratchet muttered. There was no doubt about the two mechs being twins.

"Why did you let them go?" the yellow minibot asked, sounding scared. There was no way that a mech could survive out there in open battlefield conditions, let alone two who were armed with two or three low charged rifles.

"It's a suicide mission," Jazz muttered, feeling his spark clench at the two brave mechs who just bought them some time.

"I have a feeling," was all Prime said before motioning for the remaining weapons to be distributed between the most able bots.

The newly awakened bots opted to remain clustered together, the mechs surrounding the femmes and shielding them with their own bodies. The doorwinged mech took up position, as did Jazz, though the saboteur was having some difficulty in movement. Ratchet's patch job had numbed some sensitive systems, making the affected areas not work according to mental command. Luckily Hound understood and helped the small black and white mech to his position. Jazz's frame stood out in contrast to the dark surroundings, so Hound stepped in front of his Commanding officer, using his own drab plating as a shield and allow the smaller mech some camouflage.

"Primus," Hound breathed upon looking out across the expanse. He didn't need the curious soft spoken questions from the others to initiate his hologram matrix and project what he was seeing inside for the benefit of his Prime and comrades.

"Primus," Jazz echoed in Hound's audio as he watched with unbelieving optics.

The bots protected inside the building watched the small projection that showed the devastation outside. A line of mechs littered the ground, two still falling from their considerable heights to the depths below as well aimed shots pierced their bodies. The twins were a blur of color as they moved, scaling the side of buildings, dropping down onto unfriendly targets, laser fire missing them from all directions. Apparently the sparse Autobot forces that had been found realized they had allies and turned their attack upon the Decepticons that had been hunting them.

Avoiding friendly fire the twins advanced. Any bot with a purple sigil was terminated. Some met with punctured spark chambers, others had their helms twisted from their bodies and a shot sent down their spinal strut. The dead barely made their descent to the ground as the twins moved to their next target.

The bots sheltered inside watched in wide optic fascination as the twins advanced, more ruthless than the Deceptions and twice as accurate with their aim. Sideswipe ran past bots, shooting as he went, knocking down three Cons and allowing the scattered Autobots the chance to gain the upper hand. Without waiting for affirmation, Sideswipe was already racing down the street, dodging fire aimed by a seeker.

Hound felt his breathing function halt when Sideswipe ran up the incline of a partially melted building and landed on the seeker. Without preamble he fired into the cockpit and wrenched the wings to prevent control as he started to spin and jumped clear. The seeker crashed into the side of the building but before he could regain his senses, Sunstreaker ran past, shooting the seeker in the chest, dead center to his brother's shots. The seeker twitched and fell sideways, his optics dimming, his armor graying. His trine mates met a similar end thanks to a couple of the exploding energy cells shoved into their chassis.

The Autobots in hiding felt a wave of relief, noting the tide was turning in their favor until a chilling site met their optics.

A combiner team had merged and was making for the twins.

They would never survive such an encounter.

Undeterred, they downed eight more before heading into the range of the combiner team. Like a magician, Sunstreaker disappeared from where he had been running. Sideswipe jumped aside, rolling away and firing toward the oncoming enemy. He skidded and jumped, his servos quick to deploy the small battery cells pilfered from the berths. As he rolled and ducked to avoid enemy fire, he laid the foundation along the junction supports that kept the street elevated above the one below.

Sideswipe shifted his aim as a couple triple changers thought to get the jump on him. The advanced weapons fire rained down on the ruby mech, giving him an aspect of surging fire.

The mechs in hiding couldn't watch, neither could they look away. If a warrior was going down, they could at least witness his sacrifice. Sideswipe's rifle was losing its charge. The last bit of power was easily deflected by a triple changer, who had sent the weak blast toward his counterpart, earning a grumbling rebuke as the two advanced on their target.

Several of the femmes turned away from the holo-projection, unable to witness the carnage about to unfold.

A wicked look gleamed in Sideswipe's golden white optics. He clutched the rifle like a club and without warning, jumped the nearest triple changer. His blows were rapid and precise, knowing the exact weak points of the frame type thanks to his training in the Pit. As the mech crashed to his knees, Sideswipe flipped over him just in time to avoid the laser shot from his counterpart.

The other triple changer gasped at striking his friend, weakening him further. Sideswipe used the distraction to his advantage, wrenching the triple changers weapon from him and sending one shot through his helm. The other he sent toward the second triple changer.

A shot to the shoulder supporting the other's rifle, a shot to the left knee and finally, a shot to the helm and the mech went down. The mech clutched against Sideswipe's chassis as a shield gave a pitiful whine, the helm leaking fluid all over the ruby body. Without hesitation, Sideswipe placed the barrel against the mech's back and fired straight through his spark chamber. He pushed the body from him and rolled to the second, sending a blast through his spark chamber and grabbing his weapon just as a heavy pede came thundering from above.

The combiner team had waited to see what would happen before intervening. Much to their shock, their comrades had not taken down one bright red fighter who was half their size. As the giant super mech concentrated his effort on trying to step on the ruby mech, he didn't see the flash of gold from an adjacent building.

Sideswipe dodged left and right, sliding on his side, the screech of metal making audios hurt. He thudded against a support structure, his hands scrambling with a small battery cell and laying it close to the beam. When the giant loomed above him, he moved, going to the next, darting and weaving in no apparent pattern.

Skidding on his aft plates, Sideswipe looked up into the flaming red optics hovering over him, a smirk of malice as he looked down upon the now hapless mech. Just as the giant raised his fist to smash down, there came an explosion, then another, and another, until the street was shaking with the effort to hold the colossus' weight. The last place Sideswipe vacated gave a soft beep, the power cell hitting an overload setting and exploding, taking the last thread of support. The street groaned as the metal bowed. Sideswipe held onto the structural beam behind him and felt the ground shift as the street caved in to the street below.

Dust billowed up, choking the atmosphere. Pieces of broken glass showered down, metal confetti falling as a parade celebration. The gestalt shuddered, throwing out a hand to catch himself on a building that had survived the impromptu remodeling. Sideswipe coughed out of his vents, struggling to get clean air to cool his systems. The shadow of the giant rose up in front of his vision.

Such a sight would have scared the oil out of any normal bot. Sideswipe didn't even flinch. Through the haze of smoke and raining debris, Sideswipe looked up into the hellfire optics of his would be executioner and smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. It was a look that sent spinal struts to shuddering and energon lines to run cold. It was a look that made rational mechs pause and take stock of their physical situation before it was drastically changed.

The combiner didn't seem to understand the look.

Out of no where, a golden blur erupted from a building. Sunstreaker launched himself at the giant mech who was leaning toward his twin. The three rifles were clutched in his servos as he landed on the giant's back. Before his presence could be detected he hit the overload button on the power cell that was encased in the twisted remains of the rifles. He shoved the contorted mass into the neck junction of the giant before dropping from his shoulders, tossing two charging battery cells at the connection points. The explosion took off half of the giant's head.

Metal groaned as the gestalt bond was strained. Two supplemental explosions next to critical junctions tore the gestalt apart. They fell into a crumpled heap, their bodies remaining in the joining configuration. The mech that made the torso and helm lay sparking, his armor along the edges already turning to grey. The other four members of the gestalt fritzed and jerked, no doubt their gestalt bond reeling from the loss of one of its members, let alone the leader of their consciousness.

As the four remaining mechs struggled to put their processors right, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker jumped into action. Sideswipe tossed his twin one of the rifles he stole from the triple changers. Without hesitation they landed on the half transformed bots and fired into their chests, shattering their spark chambers.

The remaining Cons who witnessed the take down of their heavy hitter turned and ran. Three were dropped with shots through their spark chamber. The other four got away. Not that Sunstreaker didn't try to stop them with distance shots. The area now cleared, Sideswipe called to his twin, earning his frozen glare and single nod of understanding. Sideswipe turned and headed toward the hiding place of the Prime and his damaged soldiers. He skidded inside the building, his optics still golden white and focusing on Prime.

"Situation contained, area cleared," Sideswipe said as if reporting on an every day subject. "Get everyone mobilized and follow me out."

Prime offered a single nod, motioning for the bots to mobilize. With the civilians in the center, they moved out, Prime opting to take up the rear, Jazz at his side. Hound was projecting a one sided image as a precaution as they moved. The Autobots who had been looking for their lost leader sighed in relief and joined the party, taking up positions to protect the wounded and civilians. When they reconfigured, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe fell back, flanking Prime and Jazz as if it was the most normal thing to do.

Sunstreaker walked by Jazz, his optics still the color of frozen terror. His step was as silent as Jazz's own, his pedefalls a perfect mirror image of Jazz's shorter stride.

Jazz felt a shiver run through him, feeling as if he was flanked by a ghost. His sensors only registered half a pulse, like an echo of life. It was very disconcerting. Add to the fact he just watched the two mechs take out over twenty soldiers, two triple changers and a fully formed gestalt, and Jazz knew these two were beyond formidable. It wasn't wise to piss off either. And judging by their attitude when told who was leading the Decepticon campaign, Megatron had unknowingly put himself in their crosshairs.

Poor slagger.

"You are welcome to join the Autobots," Prime said, his helm canting to each twin as they walked in perfect stride. "We could use mechs with your skills against the Decepticons."

"Thanks," Sunstreaker said, turning toward the much taller mech. He called over Jazz's helm, "But try not to get in our way."

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**Whew! There ya have it! Another alternative to how the twins joined up. Not sure if something similar has been before but apparently I've been finding positive alternatives. **

**Reviews would be loved!**

Next week: Sideswipe's at it again. The ARK will never be the same. :D


	71. The Grass Is Greener On the Other Side

**The Grass Is Greener on the Other Side**

AN: I take no responsibility for Sideswipe's lunacy. And as a 'non-pranking person' I find these very difficult to come up with and yet maintain originality. Please, bear with me. :D

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It took all of Sideswipes inner strength to keep from snickering as he worked. When he was done with the last bot he exited the quarters undetected. He crept down the hall on the tips of his pedes, going to the security camera and removing the special cap from its lens. With a grin he set off down the corridor, removing the other two caps he had placed on the lens to hide his movement. As he subspaced his contraband he turned the corridor that lead to the officers quarters and almost ran into a small black and white speed bump.

The two bots stared at each other for a moment, their optics raking over each others forms, searching for a sign that they were going to be ratted out. Sideswipe offered a nod, sidestepping the officer who was sneaking down the hall at such a late hour.

"Jazz." Sideswipe whispered the greeting.

'Sideswipe." Jazz returned the gesture. He nodded down the corridor he just left, "Cameras are tilted to the ceiling so if you want to go and mess with anyone, there won't be any evidence."

"Thanks," Sideswipe said, nodding from the direction he just left. "Have lenses for the hall if you want them."

"No thanks. Heading back to my room," Jazz said, cheeky grin lighting up his features.

Sideswipe could see the mechs optics glinting behind his visor. It was hard to tell what the saboteur was up to. He offered a nod to his fellow conspirator and slinked down the hall, slipping into Prime's quarters with ease.

Jazz quirked a brow ridge noting that Sideswipe moved with stealth associated with Special Ops. The mech was a natural. He should consider transferring to Jazz's unit. They could use a mech with his skills. Of course he spent most of his time _serving_ time

because of the method of choice to hone his skills. Using his fellow Autobots as targets for his pranks. Oh well. Sideswipe knew better than to try anything with Jazz. The mech was just as sneaky and dangerous enough to make anything look like an accident. Jazz slipped into his own quarters unnoticed. He was glad he had added security to his door locks. Why the rest of the bots didn't add such safety parameters, Jazz would never know. You would think they'd learn after living with Sideswipe for so long. But if the idiots wanted to continue to trust the sneaky slagger, let them suffer the consequences.

An hour later Sideswipe crept back to his quarters. Sunstreaker didn't bother opening his optics to acknowledge his twin.

"What have you been into?" Sunstreaker asked from the darkness of his berth.

"Just a little recon." Sideswipe whispered, going to is berth and settling down in the dark.

"What kind of recon?" Sunstreaker asked, then added, "Never mind. I don't know want to get involved with your insanity."

"Too late Bro, you're already infected." Sideswipe grinned in the dark.

"Yes, well I'll have to speak to Ratchet about further inoculations." Sunstreaker deadpanned, falling into charge and ignoring his brother's sputters of indignation.

The next day nothing happened. Shifts went about their business. Jazz didn't acknowledge the fact he and Sideswipe crossed paths in the middle of the night. Sideswipe pretended Jazz didn't even exist, must to the Porsche's confusion.

"More rain." Gears grumbled as he entered the command center. As always he was complaining about something. This time it was the weather.

It was officially the rainy season in Oregon. A fact most of the bots despised. Especially the sports cars. The rugged mechs like Hound and Trailbreaker enjoyed the mud and rains and sandy winds that whipped around the coast. Everyone else preferred to stay indoors and as dry as possible.

"More rain?" Mirage whined, sounding downtrodden.

The last week had been fairly warm but now that the wet season was upon them, the days were cloudy, filled with a constant heavy mist or downpours. It didn't make a mech feel comfortable.

"Only supposed to be misting heavily today." Hound put in, already splattered in mud and leaving a trial throughout the ARK. Prowl gave him a stern look. How the mech managed to get so dirty from his quarters to the command center, was anyone's guess.

"Why can't we move further south?" Gears complained.

"Besides the fact our ship is buried half a mile in a volcano and we would have to excavate it in order to move it?" Jazz put in, matching glares with Sideswipe as the little prankster kept grinning and not letting Jazz in on the secret. Jazz hated being left in the proverbial dark. He liked to know what was going on. It made avoiding Sideswipe's traps easier.

"Three days, with heavy fog in the mornings and evenings and scattered showers throughout the day." Bumblebee recited getting an itching in his circuits that was usually associated with Sideswipe. He looked to the ruby Lamborghini and noticed his passive aggressive cheek against Jazz.

Something was up between the two, Bumblebee just knew it.

"Isn't the President arriving this week?" Mirage asked, finding it to be tiresome to be gawked at by the human dignitaries.

"They arrive in two days." Jazz confirmed, giving up on getting Sideswipe to spill his secret. The mech really should transfer. Jazz would love to see what the mech could do if unleashed.

As predicted there were days of dreariness, mist, and fog so bad that Bluestreak had missed a turn and ran off the road, throwing out his alignment. The mountains were shedding their winter diamonds causing the streams and rivers to swell, the falling rain doing little to keep the banks within check. A bridge washed out in the next county prompting the Autobots to enact rescue. Only one vehicle had been stranded, thank Primus. Hound had no problem wading into the waist deep water and extracting the newly wed couple from their minivan.

The morning of the president's arrival and the base was slow to power up. The solar cells were running low on energy, the ARK now relying on batteries to keep its systems operational. With difficulty the mechs climbed from their berths with much grumbling and slow boot ups. Optical shutters were heavy and refused to retract fully and joints creaked with the strain of moving.

Sideswipe was at the communications monitor, neglecting to inform the bots that instead of an ETA of eleven am, the President would be there by nine. Apparently there was a local school that he was going to visit as well and wanted to greet the children before their lunch. Which meant the Autobots were going to have to adjust _their _schedule and entertain their human host before his next engagement.

Several bots trudged from their quarters to the rec room for morning rations, looking deprived of charge as the dreariness of the days weighed on their processors and sparks. The bots were just like humans who feel gloomy when it rains. It was always difficult to lift their spirits when the rains and leaden sky always felt oppressing. No one liked to be cold, damp, and restricted to indoors. Or the clean up detail that went with traffic.

Sideswipe allowed a snicker to escape upon seeing the official convoy head toward the ARK. He hit the alert on the sensors, granting access to the arrivals without raising any alarms for possible incursion. He waited until the humans had disembarked from their vehicles before calling over comms.

'**The humans have arrived!'** Sideswipe alerted the mechs to the situation.

'**What?**' Ironhide yelled, still staggering from his berth toward the door.

'**Can't be!'** Red Alert cried out. **'They aren't scheduled to arrive for another two hours!'**

'**Apparently they are early. I'm on my way now to greet them,'** Sideswipe said, heading toward the entrance of the ARK. **'I suggest everyone meet us in the Command Center and look busy.'**

'**Primus, frag it!'** Ironhide grumbled over comms, apparently not able to throw off the excess charge that had built from the twins brewed hi-grade from the night before. Whatever the duo did to their brew, it certainly was unique and packed the punch a mech was looking for.

Prime stumbled from his quarters, wondering why his helm was pounding when he swore he drank only **one** cube of high grade last night when Jazz hosted 'karaoke.' He half ran, half teetered his way to the command center, his circuits singing with charge. By the time he got to the command center, he was able to dissipate a good portion, though there were some residual energy that made Prime twitch from time to time.

Prowl entered the control room, his expression neutral though everyone knew he was just as flummoxed as they were with the human's arrival. And though he wouldn't admit to such emotional folly, Prowl felt the dreariness weigh heavy on his frame as well. His doorwings weren't as high and rigid as normal, his optics a little dimmer. He scratched at his wrist as he subspaced a datapad, preparing for the change to itinerary.

Prime appeared beside of his first officer, stretching and rubbing along his helm and neck. He must have charged funny. His joints were stiff and itchy.

"And if you follow me to the Command Center, I will introduce you to our Prime and his most trusted officers," Sideswipe said, layering on the charm like a seasoned pro as he escorted the large contingent of humans.

Prime adjusted his shoulders, adopted a gentle, yet commanding look, and turned to face the humans. Prowl flanked his commander, Jazz and Ironhide coming to stand behind the SIC with pleased expressions, their fans whirring from the rush to get to the command center. Ratchet, Smokescreen, Tracks, Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, Huffer, Hoist, and Windcharger came waltzing in, looking pleased to see the human visitors.

"We have been anticipating your visit and I know our Prime wishes to speak to you on some important issues, if you have the time," Sideswipe said, smiling in that roguish, sexy way that had the female population giving him an appraising look.

Sunstreaker entered the command hub and paused, looking at the assembled collection of mechs, all of whom he had seen beaten, broken, bloodied, dismembered, and shining as factory new but never had he witnessed them in such an arrangement. He paused, a snicker escaping his vents before he could stop it and like a bandit, tiptoed around the edge of the assemblage and started the video recording.

Sideswipe crossed the threshold to the command center, his attention on the humans before he looked to Prime. "I'm sure a mutual agree…. ment….."

The President and his handlers paused, looking from their brilliant ruby escort to the assembled Autobots. And every one of them gapped in astonishment. Eyes were wide. Breaths were held. Bodies were frozen.

Prime opened his vocalizer to speak when Sideswipe interrupted with a strangled noise, his expression scandalous and shocked.

The snickering started out as a whisper, then grew to thundering proportions as the humans watched the dumbstruck look on the Autobots' faces. It was only when Prime looked down, extending his leg and noting the discoloration that the full absurdity hit him. One look at Prowl, both now wide awake and optics clear, and Optimus Prime let out a sound like someone squeezing an owl.

"Siiidddeeee…." Prowl growled out, noting the patches that adorned **every** Autobot save the Lamborghini twins. "Sswiiippppeeeee!"

It was then that all mechs took a good look at their comrades.

Every one of them had a fine sprinkling of green 'hair' covering their legs, their interface panels, torsos, and those with a battlemask were marked with a facial outline of the greenery. Prowl scratched at his bumper, finding the thin paste that had been applied who knows when or how. A quick analysis showed the greenery to be normal Earthen plant growth. Nothing toxic or damaging. Thank Primus. The only thing the victims would suffer was embarrassment.

Bumblebee scratched at his interface panel, frowning at the extra thick carpet that grew around the edges of everyone's panels, looking like a bushy verge was about to explode from their private arrays. Ironhide growled, rubbing the hairy greenery from his chest plates while Smokescreen was trying to extract the verge from under his arms and from the juncture of his doorwings and body. He resembled an angered moth fighting an invisible assailant.

Tracks let out a pained cry and dashed from the room, finding his own body covered in the growing verge, his legs appearing to be twice as hairy as anyone else's.

"Guys, what have I said about waxing?" Sideswipe snapped, one servo going to his hip, the other gesturing toward the humans. "We have guests! The least you could do is clean up the playground!"

"How?" Jazz asked, looking to Sideswipe completely flummoxed. There was **no way** Sideswipe could have bypassed his security locks! But the evidence was a beautiful array of growing greenery, Jazz's torso nearly obscured by the growth.

"What** is** this stuff?" Huffer asked, rubbing at his interface panel. Now that he knew something was there, it was impossible to ignore the itching.

Sideswipe waggled his brow plating.

"Is this a… _plant_?" Windcharger asked, looking at his own bushy body.

"How can we grow plants on our bodies?" Ratchet asked, looking at the thick fur adoring his joints.

"It's been humid lately and quite muddy." Sunstreaker put in.

"And apparently thrives in joint grease." Sideswipe snickered.

"Sideswipe!" Blaster, Powerglide, Brawn, Bluestreak, and Grapple yelled in unison as they entered the command center, all sporting the growing vegetation.

"Get him!" Gears yelled, finding a thick carpet along his crotch plating to be hindering his movement.

That's all that was needed. Like a multicolored comet, everyone started after Sideswipe, who offered a scared wave to the humans before making a run for it. Sideswipe whooped and hollered, the assorted mechs chasing him around the base.

"So that's why he ordered two hundred chia pets," Sunstreaker said to no one in particular.

"Two_ hundred_?" Prowl repeated, giving Sunstreaker a 'why didn't you realize what was going on' type look. "And you never said anything?"

"I didn't know what he was going to do with them," Sunstreaker said truthfully.

"You could have guessed what his one track processor would do," Prowl said.

"I stopped understanding my twin when we split." Sunstreaker deadpanned, glaring at the mayhem caused by his rambunctious brother. There were shouts and clangs echoing from the hall. "Besides, it not my place to keep an optic on him."

"It should be." Prowl amended, struggling hard not to scratch at his plating.

Sunstreaker looked to Prowl and asked, "Can't they just terminate him?"

"There's a chance it will terminate you as well," Prowl said his hairy green joints itching. Now he knew what had been causing his discomfort the past couple of days.

"Can we test the theory?" Sunstreaker asked, hearing Sideswipe yell about not being taken alive.

Prowl looked over to the now laughing humans, all wheezing and red in the face.

"Perhaps when there aren't so many witnesses," Prowl said, earning a smirk from Sunstreaker as the two separated. Prowl went to scour his body free of the grassy verge and Sunstreaker to cover the shift that his bother wasn't going to finish.

He was just glad his brother omitted him from this prank, both as a participant and victim.

The green would have clashed horribly with his paint.

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Hope that was entertaining.

Reviews would be loved and cherished!

Next chapter is a request by** Starfire**.


	72. It Resonates From the Sun

**It Resonates From the Sun**

Request for **Starfire201.**

**Guest:** Glad you got a kick out of it!

**LesleyM**: Oh gosh! Didn't mean to kill you! *sends Lambos in for CPR* Sunny makes EVERYONE melt, so you're not alone ;)

**Guest2**: If Sides defected, there would be a chance of the enemy surrendering. He's just THAT good.

**Rotorhead**: Glad I could provide you with some laughs and strange looks. Always a bonus!

**Everyone else-** Messages are in your inboxes! I answer each and every one via the site! ;)

**WARNING**: May need clean panties

**{{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}} **

"Hey guys, wait up!" Jazz called, running down the hall and catching up with the two new recruits.

They both paused, but Sunstreaker advanced a few more paces, clearly indicating he wished to continue and not be bothered. When he turned his dark gaze to the Special Ops mech, it was with deliberate slowness and a piercing stare. Jazz skidded when he joined them, his visor flashing toward Sideswipe who was looking mildly interested in the smaller black and white mech.

"Where are you guys headed?" Jazz asked, his vents huffing to cool his systems as he had ran the expanse of the compound to catch up to the notorious twins.

Ever since he read the intelligent reports of the twins, and his spark thudded in excitement with the prospect, he was curious to see if he could persuade them to join his unit. Just the idea of having illicit beings in the ranks was enough to make the enemy pause. If they knew they were fighting a statistical anomaly, and the bane of Primus, they'd think twice about engaging. That was a tactic Jazz was more than happy to employ.

"Help you with something?" Sideswipe asked, a brow ridged cocked. He felt his brother's apprehension fill the bond but kept his face neutral.

"Just wanted to see if you were going to the commissary" Jazz said, taking a step toward Sunstreaker in a subtle gesture to get the duo moving again. Sideswipe took the unspoken cue and together they walked down the hall.

"We have training this afternoon," Sideswipe said, nodding to the far outer courtyard where Ironhide was giving his tutorials. "That lug of nuts believes he can teach us something of merit."

"Fool." Sunstreaker rumbled, his voice deep and earning Jazz's instant attention.

Sunstreaker noticed Jazz's perk expression and smiled grimly to himself. It looked like they found another bot who wanted to tag along and play in their shadows. Well, that wasn't going to happen. Mechs were terminated for less and Sunstreaker didn't want to deal with a constant shadow following him and his brother around like a lost turbo puppy.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Sunstreaker asked, noting Jazz kept pace and seemed to bounce along on his pedes as they made for the courtyard.

"Just got back from mission actually,' Jazz said, grinning at Sunstreaker, before giving him a sincere look. "You have a nice voice."

Sunstreaker recoiled, not used to compliments. Sideswipe instantly filled their bond with laughing adoration.

'**You have an admirer,'** Sideswipe said over their twin bond.

"I don't berth minis" Sunstreaker said, casting a sidelong glance at Jazz. He was rewarded with a sputtering vent and faltered step.

"Wha…" Jazz asked, taken completely off guard. Whatever he thought, that wasn't it. "What are you talking about?"

"Not interested in minibots, nor berthing anyone on this base," Sunstreaker said, his tone taking on a dangerous edge, a subtle hint for Jazz's intentions to hit the road and not look back.

"Mech, you misunderstand me," Jazz said, giving Sunstreaker a look like he was appraising the golden frame. His optics roved the perfectly polished and symmetric body before he smirked, a noise escaping him like a puff of disgust. "You're not my type, no matter how pretty you make yourself."

Sunstreaker's fists curled, readying for a fight. He didn't know why his dismissal made him angry. He should be happy that the small black and white officer had no romantic inclinations. That would have been a relief in many cases. But for some reason, his disinterest irked Sunstreaker. Sideswipe set him a questioning glare that Sunstreaker ignored.

"Like you would stand a chance!" Sunstreaker snapped, determined to have the upper hand.

"I didn't mean you were berthable," Jazz said, continuing on as if the strange misunderstanding never took place. "It's just, I love music, and I have a few compositions that your voice would be perfect for." He gave Sunstreaker a faint smile, his visor glowing a bright blue. "If you are so inclined."

"Sunny? _Singing_?" Sideswipe gasped, his laughter winning out and drowning his voice. He earned himself a whack upside the helm, causing him to staggering into the bulkhead of the hall before catching himself.

Jazz couldn't stop his jaw from hitting the floor at the sheer speed and power behind Sunstreaker's strike. He barely registered the golden blur before Sunstreaker was inert beside of him once again.

Sideswipe laughed off the attack and smiled at his brother, both flooding the bond with affection and satisfaction at seeing the stunned mech witnessing their prowess.

"Amazing," Jazz gasped. The golden warrior flexed his body showing the power behind his frame as he turned in slow motion, his gaze falling on the much shorter mech.

"You should teach everyone to move like that," Jazz said, feeling his lines run cold though he refused to show any outward appearance to the fact he was internally freezing.

"Like you would stand a chance." Sunstreaker sneered; looking down his olfactory sensor to the mech he considered a minibot though Jazz did not fit into their sub-category.

"Brute strength isn't always needed, but it has its place and serves it purposes," Jazz's outward appearance showed no discomfort. "But like all things, they can be easily thwarted and not all battles can be won with sheer brute strength."

Sunstreaker turned fully to Jazz, stepping close to the Third in command, and looked down on the top of Jazz's helm. Jazz barely came to Sunstreaker's shoulder. "Do you think a puny minibot could move like us and have a chance in the Pit to bring one of us down?"

Jazz glance down to the golden pede, then up the legs and over the torso and finally up into the handsome face that loomed above him before answering.

"Subtlety is an art form that not all can accomplish, but it can get the job done… much like those who employ strength."

"Would you like a first hand experience with true strength?" Sunstreaker growled, his chassis vibrating.

Jazz gave a shiver, his audios sensing the frequencies employed. His visor dimmed, soaking in the resonance of the sound.

Sunstreaker was ready to pound the small black and white menace, but when his potential rival lowered his guard and seemed to _sway,_ he halted his retribution. Surprise flooded the bond from both sides as Jazz simply basked in the sound that was so close to his audios, it consumed him.

It was a minute before he spoke. "Primus, that voice of yours will be a mech's undoing."

Now Sunstreaker was really shocked. He took a step back from the crazy monochromatic slagger who was just an arm's length away, and apparently drunk on auditory influence.

"Primus, Jazz, a mech could talk you into overload if they found the right pitch," Sideswipe said, smirking at the mech's auditory weakness.

"Good possibility," Jazz said, disregarding the causal address. He gave a contented sigh. "Have yet to find someone who can accomplish such a thing but there is always a first time for everything."

Jazz reached out, clasping Sunstreaker's arm to steady himself but it was the wrong thing to do. He made the ultimate mistake. He touched Sunstreaker. With a flash like liquid sunshine, Sunstreaker had the monochromatic mech spun and pinned against the wall, his pedes barely touching the floor, arms wrenched painfully behind his back, keeping him immobile.

"Never… touch… me." Sunstreaker growled, his voice taking on a such pitch that Jazz shuddered. He pressed against the Third's body, sandwiching him between the bulkhead, sensing every tremor and hitch to his systems.

"Sunstreaker! What are you doing?" Prowl's voice rang out. He stormed up, unafraid of the golden mech was holding Jazz expertly against the wall. "Release Jazz this instant!"

Sunstreaker did as bade, his optics dark with intent as he allowed Jazz freedom and stood a step away from the slow to recover Third.

"What were you doing?" Prowl demanded, looking Jazz over for any signs of harm. He seemed okay, but his systems were registering… hot.

"Talking." Sunstreaker answered.

"I suggest you find another avenue to communication that doesn't involve pinning a mech against a bulkhead to speak into their audio," Prowl said, looking disgruntled.

"Don't you dare!" Jazz snapped at Sunstreaker before spinning to give Prowl and annoyed look. "Stay out of this!"

Prowl was shocked into silence.

Jazz gave Sunstreaker a look before growling, "This isn't over with."

"Count on it." Sunstreaker sneered before Jazz gave Prowl a stern look before departing.

Jazz was a few paces away before he added, "Oh, and Sunstreaker?" He waited until he had Sunstreaker's utmost attention. "Don't practice your audial overloading on anyone else. I would kind of like to hold that distinct title on my own."

Sunstreaker pulled up, stunned.

When the twins faced Prowl, the tactician looked mildly disturbed. Not sure what caused such a contemplative mood in the uptight mech, the twins tensed, wondering what form of demon they had unknowingly just entertained.

"You two better watch out," Prowl said nodding toward the speck of black and white retreating officer "If Jazz has set his sights on you…."

Prowl let the warning trail off, his meaning quite clear. He gave Sunstreaker a hard stare, hoping to drill his warning into the mech's thick helm, but Sunstreaker merely scowled. Sideswipe looked thoughtful before his ever present mischievous look returned to his facial plates.

"Oh, goodie!" Sideswipe crooned, heading in the opposite direction of both officers. "We found someone to play with!"

"We shall see." Sunstreaker muttered, his mood surly the rest of the day.

The next morning, Sunstreaker opened his optics to find a very strange scene.

Jazz was leaning over his helm, a brilliant smile on his face, his visor powering up to a brilliant shine when he noticed Sunstreaker's alertness.

"Morning, Sunshine." Jazz grinned.

"How did you…?" Sunstreaker started, trying to rise off the berth to throttle the mech that dared to violate his personal space, his quarters, and use such a **foul** nickname.

"You're motor controls are knocked out." Jazz explained, tilting his helm toward the muffled noise of Sideswipe trying to move on the adjacent berth.

"How did you get in here?" Sunstreaker asked, anger tingeing the low resonance of his voice.

Jazz visibly shuddered. He vented a soft sigh, his head shaking slowly from side to side. "Mech, I'm telling you, use that voice for something other than threats. We could make a killing."

"I'm going to kill you!" Sunstreaker promised, his optics narrowed. If he had full motor control, there was a good chance Jazz would be in pieces in the blink of an optic.

"What have you done?" Sideswipe demanded, still unable to move. He was face down on the berth.

"Just a small recalibration that makes your circuits go numb for a short time," Jazz said, his voice nonchalant as if they were discussing the weather. "Just wanted to give you two the heads up on what you're facing here at the base. You are _way_ out of your league."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sunstreaker asked. How dare the mech question his ability to cause chaos and run with the big machines.

"I've read your files,' Jazz said, his tone polite.

"Meaning?" Sunstreaker prompted.

"The recruits you joined up with were incarcerated within ten breems of signing up because you rallied them into a rioting mob," Jazz explained. "Then when you were thrown in the brig, you hotwired it and escaped, then proceeded to hotwire every cell into flashing out a light show that was set to music."

"That was rather ingenious," Sideswipe said to the berth.

"Yes, it was, but it also proves that you two are loose screws," Jazz said, leaning causally over Sunstreaker's inert form. "You have no regard for rules, regulations, boundaries, and think you can bully anyone who gets in your way, hence the four soldiers you sent to the medic upon signing on."

"We could have taken down more had my nitwit twin not thrown out his actuators the night before," Sunstreaker grumbled. The fact he took on mechs twice his size and was outnumbered didn't faze him. He was embarrassed that he didn't have time to take down **more** adversaries. He was bloodthirsty that way.

"Well, just so you know, Prowler doesn't like disruption."

"_Prowler_?" Sunstreaker asked, glad that he wasn't the only one with a terrible nickname. Perhaps he could enlist Prowl's help in eliminating the ones who keep insisting on using such horrible mutilations of names.

"Mehh.. he likes it," Jazz shrugged. "He just doesn't know it yet."

Sideswipe snickered at the berth.

"I just wanted to warn you, this is Prime's own unit," Jazz said, all jocularity gone as he stared down into Sunstreaker's upside down visage. "We're the best. The best espionage, tactical, and heavy hitters. This isn't a stripped down base with novice officers and rank amateurs for you to exploit and ignore direct orders."

"Figured that when Prime hand picked us," Sideswipe said, still face down on the berth.

"So instead of a welcoming committee, you're our what…a _warning _committee?" Sunstreaker asked, feeling his plates tingling as the numbness started to wear off.

"Just a friendly reminder." Jazz smiled, then glanced to Sideswipe with a frown. He looked back to Sunstreaker, his face hovering so very close to the glaring optics. "Why does he charge like that?"

"He's an idiot." Sunstreaker grunted. When Jazz looked dubious, Sunstreaker amended, "It's usually how he passes out either from too much high grade or an overload."

"Not mutually exclusive," Sideswipe said, his fingers twitching with his words.

Jazz noticed the movement and decided the immobilizing effects were wearing off. Not a good idea to be in the same room when the ones you rendered immobile regain their mobility. Parts could be flying, and not in the good way.

"That's my cue," Jazz said, he looked into Sunstreaker's upside down optics. His optical band twinkled with promise. "Just remember. We're all highly trained professionals who have been fighting this war since before you two were even sparked. Try not to get yourselves slagged by your teammates instead of the enemy."

Without a sound he was gone.

"That slagger!" Sunstreaker growled.

"I love him!" Sideswipe declared, his servo able to thud against the berth as his motor controls started to come back. "This was a great prank!"

"It wasn't a joke," Sunstreaker said, trying to regain his own mobility. "This was a warning. He's not a mech to mess with."

"Then he obviously doesn't know us," Sideswipe said, his grin hidden by the cushion of his berth.

"You wait until I see him," Sunstreaker growled, his voice traveling the distance and making Sideswipe shiver. Jazz had a point. Sunstreaker had a sinful voice.

"Oh don't terminate him. We finally met someone who can equal us in pranks!" Sideswipe declared with a pout.

"We'll see." Sunstreaker muttered darkly.

The next morning Jazz woke up to find that he had been immobilized. He sighed, his visor coming online and alerting the two mechs currently resting against him that he was awake.

"How did you break my code?" Jazz asked knowing who was pressed against him without sensing for spark signature.

"I'm pretty good with locks" Sideswipe said. His voice rumbling from deep within his chassis.

Jazz struggled as he turned his visor to see Sideswipe laying on his left. Sunstreaker was on his right.

"You're inhibiting skills need some work." Jazz's rebuking tone was cordial. "I can still feel my body."

"We didn't use a knock out sequence or sedative," Sunstreaker said, his artistic eye catching the subtle shift in color along Jazz's plating. It was rather nice.

"What did you use?" Jazz asked, unsure what could keep his so immobile and yet, fully cognizant of his faculties.

"I glued you're the berth," Sideswipe said nonchalantly.

"What?" Jazz spat. "Do you know how long it will take to get me unstuck for here?"

"Took the last mech what?…. Forty breems?" Sunstreaker asked.

"About." Sideswipe offered a one sided shrug. "But he was a stout slagger."

"Alright, lesson learned," Jazz said with a sigh. "Don't immobilize either of you."

"Don't sneak into our quarters," Sunstreaker said lowering his helm to speak directly into Jazz's audio. It had the desired effect. "Don't enter our quarters uninvited. Don't enter our berths. Do no touch us and above all else," Sunstreaker leaned in, his olfactory sensor brushing against Jazz's cheek as he pitched his voice low and rumbled, "Don't think you could ever get the better of us because it… will… never… happen."

"Oh… I do love a challenge," Jazz said, fighting back the urge to sigh at the resonance. He never met anyone who could pitch their voice in such a manner. How Sunstreaker managed, Jazz didn't know. But the tracks they could record and sell on the open market! Jazz recognized talent when he heard it. He had no doubt that Sunstreaker could croon his way into any situation or under anyone's plating.

Sideswipe smirked, observing his twin. He had an inkling what Sunstreaker was going to do from the erratic sensations filtering over the bond. Sunstreaker smirked in that predatory, sexy way. Picking an old battle hymn, Sunstreaker leaned forward, pressing against Jazz's audio and started his song, his voice melodious, cultured, the deep bass thrumming down into levels that had Jazz trembling despite the glue. Sunstreaker only made it halfway through the song before Jazz gave a strangled cry, his body jerking, little arcs of electricity danced over his plating and the smell of burnt ozone assaulted the twins senses. Sunstreaker smirked, giving his brother a look that Sideswipe normally wore when a prank was well executed.

"Primus, that was hilarious," Sideswipe said, extricating himself from the now unconscious Jazz.

"Maybe that will teach the fragger boundaries," Sunstreaker said, giving Jazz's peaceful face one last look before getting up from the berth.

"I have a feeling he's going to be your new best friend." Sideswipe laughed as they exited Jazz's quarters. Much to their surprise, Prowl was exiting his room across the hall. Before he could open his mouth to inquire as to why the twins were leaving Jazz's quarters so early, Sideswipe took it upon himself to cut off the SIC. "Don't worry. We'll get you next week. Be sure to fuel up. You'll need the energy."

Prowl's stupefied expression remained on his face long after the twins departed. Like a flash he stepped to Jazz's door and when there was no answer, he typed in his override code. When he found Jazz, he frowned, noting the inert body and the lingering affects of a good overload. He was about to leave, thinking Jazz had added another conquest to his tally, when he noticed the other black and white officer was cushioned on a thick, purplish gel.

Sighing in frustration, Prowl commed the maintenance crew to bring a solvent and remove Jazz from his berth as he set out in search of two troublemakers.

Jazz was eerily missing for two weeks after that, making both twins think that he had gotten the message and wisely left them alone. Then as they were training some new recruits, much to Ironhide's adamant verbal dismay, a transport landed and belched out a dozen mechs, Jazz in the lead. He looked haggard, dented, and his optical band was cracked, allowing only a third of it to power up. His left servo was crushed and a mesh-patch was grafted to his thigh were energon stained the paint. He looked like the Pit. When he noticed the familiar primary flash of his two favorite adversaries, he redirected his path, limping to the two front line warriors.

"Meet me in conference room delta in thirteen joors," Jazz said, his voice was harsh, edgy. It lacked the usual good natured lilt that made the mech so likable. Sunstreaker opened his mouth to protest the abbreviated lessons he and his brother were hosting, but Jazz's voice cut through his own and made Sunstreaker frown at Jazz's words. "Do not speak to anyone but myself and be there when I'm granted medical leave."

Without waiting for affirmation Jazz strode away, his left leg threatening to tear open and spray his fluids. The twins watched him disappear, their bond full of active conjecture. Since they hadn't seen Jazz since Sunstreaker had sang him into a happy overload, they didn't know if the officer forgave their little prank, or intended to reprimand them now that he was back from a mission.

Certainly the glue hadn't lasted **that** long?

The twins were instantly bored when they entered conference room delta. It was as sparse as any other conference room, with a long oblong table, assorted chairs, datapads at each chair, and a central holographic projection in the center of the table that was connected to the datapads. A small niche in the corner where energon could be dispensed and another alcove sported a collection of cleaning supplies. Just a typical, uninteresting room. Why Jazz wanted the twins to meet him there was anyone's guess, but as the twins thought about it, the conference room was on a little used floor. Perhaps he wanted a private chat with them about the little stunt they pulled and didn't want anyone to overhear? Or perhaps, after being away on a prolonged mission, Jazz just wanted to hear Sunstreaker sing again?

Stranger things have happened.

Just as the twins sat down and brushed against each other's sparks in a little game they developed, they heard a light tapping of pedefalls. The gait was uneven, suggesting the mech was either elderly, clumsy, or injured. When Jazz limped into the room and shut the door, the twins remained seated, watching the black and white officer as he glanced to the two and scrutinized their lax frames.

"Did you tell anyone you were coming here?" Jazz asked, his voice still hard and stern, like a seasoned soldier.

"No," Sideswipe said, feeling a surge of darkness from his brother.

Jazz looked between the two, his cracked visor now displaying half illumination.

"Are you trustworthy?" Jazz asked, glaring at each brother in turn. Though his visor was damaged, the weight of his stare was still oppressive.

"Of course we are!" Sideswipe snapped, looking indignant. Sunstreaker sat, scowling, his temper flaring with the insinuation.

Jazz regarded the two for a moment, the silence stretching. He expected both to fidget under his gaze. They all did. Much to his surprise the two remained motionless, not even the sound of their soft venting could be heard. With a curt nod he limped around the table.

"Follow me," Jazz ordered.

To Jazz's surprise, the twins obeyed, following the shorter mech to the cleaning alcove where he gestured for them to step inside. When the twins hesitated, Jazz pointed into the alcove that would barely hold the twins and snapped. "In!"

As soon as the twins entered the small inset, Jazz followed, and pressed his back against the two. His servo came out and touched a part of the paneled wall and with a beep, energy radiated out. Within the blink of an optic the trio were transported to a new location.

"What you witness here never leaves this domain, am I understood?" Jazz asked, stepping out of the small transported field and turning to stare at the two dumbfounded mechs. "One word leaks out and both of you are terminated, no questions asked. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," Sideswipe said, stepping off the teleportation pad. Sunstreaker followed behind offering a nod of affirmation.

Jazz turned and lead the way through the capacious room, taking one of the halls and navigating his way through the twisting turns and confusing corridors. When they felt like they had traveled a fair distance, Jazz turned to a door that was unmarked and flush against the hall. He placed his servo on the wall and with a swish, the door opened, allowing access. Jazz limped through, the twins following at a curious, yet sedate pace. The room was brightly lit, and much to the twins surprise, housed several Decepticons.

There were half a dozen cubicles, a Decepticon prisoner a guest in each, and at least two special Ops mechs walking around their captured foes. Machines, tubes, wires, and tools that looked painful were placed on trays. Some were stained with spilled energon, others were pristine and awaiting use.

"We have a few captors that are highly valuable." Jazz explained as he walked past the line cubicles. A dark green mech was standing with arms folded over his chassis regarding an unconscious yellow seeker and offered Jazz a single dip to the helm in acknowledgement before returning his attention to his captive. "Most are privy to secret warehouses, supply lines, and tactical information. Others may be useful in wiping their memories, planting explosives in their frames, and returning them to their bases."

"So why do you need us?" Sunstreaker asked, watching a blue mech open the helm of a restrained Decepticon and plug wires directly into his cortex. Such hacking was extremely painful, but the Decepticon only winced, his helm unable to move to throw off his mental attacker.

"Some require a more…. delicate…. approach," Jazz said, motioning to the silent form in the last cubicle. "This fragger put up one Pit of a fight."

The twins noticed Jazz sway a little before catching himself and nodding to the immobile prisoner.

"I've dealt with him before and let me tell you, he's not easy to crack," Jazz said, trying to hide his discomfort. "Slagger almost took out my entire unit before we caught him."

"And what you want us to do?" Sideswipe asked, taking in the blue mech's battered form. He was a symbiote carrier, a compartment on his chest torn free and the docking stations inside bare of symbiotes. "Beat him up?"

"Tried that," Jazz said. "And hacking, which doesn't work because he's a telepath and can block out your cortex."

"Why do you need him?" Sunstreaker asked, not seeing anything of value or use to the battered mech suspended in the energy field. "Why don't you just terminate him?"

"He has information I need," Jazz said, leaning against a tray of assorted tools that had already been tried on the captive. "This is Megatron's right hand mech. If we can get into his cortex, I can learn Megatron's plans and may be able to turn this mech here into an unwilling spy."

Sideswipe stepped closer to the captured Decepticon. The energy field was keeping him weakened and muted their conversation, not allowing the mech the ability to hear the conversation being held about him. His optics had been shattered, a gouge ran the length of his left cheek, displaying the circuitry beneath. The mech was blind and deaf, and weakened from the energy restraints, but he was still dangerous.

"We have to keep him in the depletion field to keep his abilities in check," Jazz said, wincing as his injuries smarted from constant movement. "We take him out, question him, then when his abilities return, we put him back in the depletion field."

"How long has he been here?" Sideswipe asked.

"Captured him just before I left on the last mission," Jazz said, fighting back the urge to voice his discomfort. "We had intel that Megatron was searching for his little pet, and I was sent in to see how far he'd gotten in figuring it out."

"He close?" Sideswipe asked, worried over the safety of the base.

"Not by a long shot," Jazz said. "I planted false information that we were holding him in Tyger Pax so he'll concentrate his efforts there."

"Won't that set up the civilians to get slaughtered?" Sideswipe asked, knowing the Autobot code prevented such reckless savagery. Course the rule book also frowned upon torturing captives but hey, this was war and when one's own extinction was on the line, it was no hold's barred.

"Civilians have been evacuated," Jazz said, gracing Sideswipe with a half smile. He knew the twins had it in them to be compassionate toward others. "The city is already fully charged with explosives. I planted the detonator on one of Megatron's soldiers so when they enter the city, it will blow."

"And this mech?" Sunstreaker said, his gaze had been transfixed on the immobile features.

"Contingency plan. If we don't get Megatron, then I'll need another avenue to him."

"And what is it exactly you want us to do?" Sideswipe asked.

"Actually, I just need you," Jazz said, looking to Sunstreaker and earning a small start from the golden mech. "Well, your voice anyway."

"My… voice?" Sunstreaker asked skeptically.

"I know what that vocoder of yours is capable of," Jazz said without a hint of embarrassment. "And I'll need you to use it on him. While you have him under your spell, I can hack his cortex."

"You serious?" Sunstreaker asked.

"I wouldn't have brought you down here without having faith in your ability," Jazz said. He gave a guilty look. "You already passed my tests, so I know what you are capable of."

Sideswipe started to snicker, which turned into hysterical laughter. The noise drew the attention from the other Special Ops agents that were engaged with their own captives or talking amongst themselves. They all gave Sideswipe a cross look, not finding any humor in their situation. Jazz was giving the ruby mech a look that meant he thought the warrior was disturbed, which Sunstreaker gave a nod of affirmation, letting him know his assumption was correct.

"What is so funny?" Jazz asked after Sideswipe calmed down.

"Sorry," Sideswipe said, gathering his wits and exhaling a heavy gust of air. "It's just… this entire war could end… thanks to a song." When Jazz's creased expression remained frozen, Sideswipe added, "You use a mechs weakness for music against him, hack into his processor, and make him the perfect unwilling spy-drone…..and all because of my brother's voice."

Jazz allowed a snicker to escape. He graced Sunstreaker with an appreciative look his brow ridge cocked. "What can I say? Sunstreaker is just that good."

Sunstreaker smirked, agreeing with the assessment. The fact that Jazz referred to him by his full designation and not that atrocities nickname gifted by Sideswipe, had Sunstreaker warming up to the mech and his ideas.

"So, when do you want to hack him?" Sideswipe asked, gesturing toward the blue mech.

"No time like the present," Jazz said, hobbling the few paces next to Sunstreaker.

"But, you're injured." Sideswipe protested.

"The sooner I can hack him, the sooner we can get the information we need and send him on his way," Jazz said, pulling a chair close and sitting heavily. He was in a lot more pain than what he was allowing to show. The twins could admire that. "I'll lower the field and the restraints will keep him anchored to the berth. You have fifteen joors before he starts to regain his abilities."

"Won't take that long," Sunstreaker said with a knowing look. His gaze swept Jazz's battered frame suggestively. "Judging by past experience."

If Jazz was a modest mech he would have blushed.

"Which is why when you are working on him, I've ordered all of my personnel to mute their audios," Jazz said, giving Sunstreaker a knowing look. "And mine will be off as well. When he overloads, I'll hack into his cortex. There will be less resistance if he's out of it."

"Don't trust us?" Sideswipe asked with a grin. He waggled his brow plates in a suggestive manner when Jazz looked at him.

"If I didn't, you wouldn't be here." Jazz deadpanned. His servos went to the controls of the energy field, hovering over the disconnect that would grant the mech his hearing. The damage to his optics was too extensive, so he would still endure being blind. "Remember, my audios will be off so I'll be watching him to gauge his reaction."

"Yeah, better turn them off," Sideswipe said, holding back a snicker at the absurdity of the situation. Just to be cheeky he added, "Turn them off or get off accidentally, and we know how much of a travesty that would be."

Jazz looked startled, then grinned, his audios switching off. He looked to Sunstreaker and got a nod of confirmation before typing in the sequence. The energy field shimmered into stillness, granting the mech his sense of hearing and touch. He jerked at the sudden rush of sensory input. The table in which he was anchored dropped down, presenting his immobile form to his captives. He tried to struggle but the energy had drained his strength. It would take some time to regain it, and he was always thwarted before he could show the filthy Autobots what he could do when pissed. Much to his surprise a deep voice started to sing, the pitch wavering and filling his senses.

Jazz was stationed by the mech's helm, his own helm level with the flat table. When the mech lost consciousness, he would be ready. He watched as Sunstreaker approached, and like a trained seductress, leaned toward the mech's audios, using his enchanting voice in that damnable way. Jazz wasn't surprised when the blue mech twitched, the spell weaving its magic and wrapping around his sensors and doing delicious things to his audios.

Jazz's attention drifted to Sunstreaker and though he couldn't hear the mech's voice, his memory files opened against his will and replayed the morning before his last mission. He stared, entranced as Sunstreaker moved, edging closer to the mech's audios, his servos ghosting across the shoulder and along the gaping chest compartment. The actions were slow and soothing, causing the blue frame to shudder against its will. Jazz understood. He sympathized and felt a pang of jealousy.

And like with Jazz, halfway through the song, Sunstreaker modulated his voice and with a gasping whimper the blue frame bucked off the berth. Electricity danced across his plating and filled the air with the scent of burnt ozone. A few tremors later he relaxed, falling off line, his chest heaving as his body struggled to dispel the pent up heat and subsequent release.

Sunstreaker smirked, looking to Jazz as the saboteur nodded and opened the access panels along the mech's helm. Like a well practiced medic he navigated the mechs overwrought mind and plunged into the post-coital haze of the blue mech's cortex.

He onlined his audios in time to hear distant voices congratulate Sunstreaker on his beautiful singing voice.

It took nothing for Jazz to hack into the mechs mind and implant the needed codes that would transmit vital information when Jazz sent the sub-frequencies. And of course after each transmission the mech would crash, rebooting to find a wide gap in his systems that signaled an inoperable glitch that no medic could eliminate. Memory wiped clean, the mech would go back to his business, unknowing of the information he unwillingly supplied to the enemy.

Jazz hummed while he worked, his optical band dim. He heard the distant ramblings of his unit talking with Sideswipe and the occasional one word offered by Sunstreaker that passed as a conversation for the golden mech. It took no time in instituting the program into the blue mech and with a heavy sigh, Jazz disconnected from the offline mech. With a wave of his hand his agents dispersed, knowing their leader wanted privacy in talking with the two new recruits.

Jazz rose, wobbling a little on his protesting leg and went to the twins, who were standing side by side overseeing the blue mechs mining.

"Thanks for your help," Jazz said to Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker offered a nonchalant gesture, but his optics were shining with triumph. Sideswipe looked smug though technically, he hadn't done anything to warrant such a look. As both were basking in the adulation for a job well done, and accomplishing something the saboteur had been unable to do, neither suspected Jazz of ill intent until his servos darted out, catching both along the side of the neck and pressing against a recessed node that caused a reboot.

Ratchet had taught him that particular spot, but Jazz would never divulge his secrets.

Shock registered on the twin visages as Jazz hovered over their collapsing frames. He offered a smirk, his servos cradling the two helms with a tenderness not shown to any other. He allowed gravity to take the two in its embrace, mindful of their helms, and when their optics flickered off in a full system reset, he allowed both twins to be removed by members of his team. They hoisted the unconscious duo and carted them off to their quarters, where the twins woke up the end of the stellar cycle.

"Slagging eating Pit master!" Sunstreaker barked, punching the air with his fist as his onlined on his berth.

Sideswipe muttered something unintelligible from his own berth and rolled to his side, wanting to fall back into charge. The anger flooding the bond pulled him from a dreams embrace and when his processor caught up to what had happened, he too fumed at the audacity of the Special Ops mech.

"That slagger! I'll terminate him!" Sunstreaker growled, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the berth. "I'm going to find him and terminate him with my bare servos! How dare he use us then turn on us like that!"

Strangely, the anger fled Sideswipe in a violent rush, his spark calming though the torrent of emotions flooding the link made him flinch.

"Let it go, Sunstreaker," Sideswipe said, his voice deadly calm. It startled Sunstreaker from his verbal tirade.

"How can I let it go?" Sunstreaker spat. "Do you not feel betrayed?"

"I have a feeling that even Prime doesn't know everything that goes on with Jazz's unit," Sideswipe said slowly, remembering the mechs he had seen in the hidden chambers and how they blended together in his memory. It must have been a memory scrambler. Or Jazz hacked his cortex while he was out. System checks showed that he had remained untouched during his subsequent paralysis and berth rest.

"So?" Sunstreaker spat, his fingers were digging into the metal of the berth, denting its edges.

"Sunny, I don't think it's wise to press Jazz," Sideswipe said, ignoring his brothers growling venom at the nickname.

"You? Afraid of a mech?" Sunstreaker snorted.

"Not afraid, just…. respectably distant." Sideswipe amended. Sunstreaker rolled his optics at the semantics. "He could have done any number of things to us while we were out of it, Sunny. But he didn't. He didn't hack into our cortexes, and didn't cause any damage. I mean, look at your frame."

Sunstreaker glanced down. Sure enough, there wasn't a mark on him. He had fallen to the ground, he remembered the slow motion decent. There should have been scuffs on his person. But his body was buffed and polished, looking just as dashing as it always did.

"This was a warning," Sideswipe said, nodding toward the door. "Jazz does things Prime doesn't know about, and probably, to some extent, have free reign to do whatever he wants. He's giving us the opportunity to see what he's capable of, yet not come out and threaten us. He showed us their base of operations, even though he didn't have to. He took a chance in bringing down two front line mechs into the inner workings of his secret unit."

"I can't even remember their faces." Sunstreaker muttered, frowning at the vague recollection he held.

"Probably a distortion field that alters our processors." Sideswipe gave a one sided shrug. "But he took a chance in divulging the location and his mechs to us."

"Still think I need to terminate him." Sunstreaker muttered with a mulish growl.

"This is a warning." Sideswipe repeated, making sure to capture his brother's attention. "The blitz attack on us was sudden, and though he was injured, he could still defend himself. But instead of allowing us to fall and be possibly injured, he eased us to the floor as we succumbed."

Sunstreaker felt his vehemence deflate. "He could have really scratched my paint."

"But yet, you look as perfect as always," Sideswipe said with a nod. "He made sure you maintained your looks even though he overpowered you."

Sunstreaker glared. "I don't like that."

"Neither do I," Sideswipe admitted. "But I understand it. It's subtle, yet it speaks louder than open action."

Sunstreaker canted his helm, unsure how to interrupt his brother's meaning.

"Jazz is different than from anything we've ever encountered before," Sideswipe said, his gaze going distant as the memory of Jazz's face hovering above his own as he succumbed to the shut down sequence ran through his meta. "He shows the world his fun side, but when it comes down to business, he's just as ruthless as we are."

Sunstreaker felt a shiver, his hand going to his chassis and rubbing the area over his spark chamber. He knew the sensation was coming from his twin.

"This was Jazz's way of showing us we're easily removed," Sideswipe said his voice soft. "At any time he can assert himself and with the resources at his disposal, he could ensure we are never found. He's trusting us with his secrets, and if we divulge them, there won't be a safe return to our quarters with buffed paint jobs."

Sunstreaker gave a slow nod, his gaze fixed on the floor. It was a very sobering thought and a heavy burden. But somehow, it felt good to bear some of Jazz's secrets. It was like he allowed a piece of himself to be held by another, trusting them to keep him safe and not shatter his trust.

"Promise me you wont do anything stupid," Sideswipe said, looking across the room to his brother.

"It's usually me saying that to you." Sunstreaker snorted. He rose from his berth and headed toward the door. "And I wouldn't do anything to destroy the faith someone has placed in me to keep their secrets."

Sideswipe smiled, at his brother's retreating back. Knowing Sunstreaker, he needed a couple laps around the perimeter before he could return to charge. He couldn't charge without checking out the base first. It was a bad habit that got him reprimanded on several occasions. Sideswipe was deep in charge as soon as his helm hit the berth, unknowing the true intentions of his twin.

A gentle touch along his cheek, to his visor, and along his audio and Jazz gave a contented purr. Then he realized it wasn't a dream but actual _physical _contact bleeding through his consciousness. He started awake, finding Sunstreaker poised near his helm, his thin fingers tracing along the Special Ops facial features in soothing, gentle strokes.

"Sunstreaker?" Jazz gasped, looking into the golden mechs face. Primus, he looked like a specter of death, prepared to snuff out his spark and claim his shell. How could the mech do that? And how in the name of Primus had he bypassed **all **of Jazz's security measures! Even his own team didn't know how to crack his codes!

Sunstreaker barely acknowledged his designation, his artistic fingers tracing along the cracked visor that was to be replaced as soon as Ratchet could find a suitable replacement. The digits trailed along the edge of the visor and along Jazz's jaw, circling up to his helm and tracing around his audios. Jazz shivered despite the unusual circumstance. Without thought he grasped Sunstreaker's servo, halting his ministrations and a surprised noise escaped when he realized his body had responded to his instinctual command.

"You are not restrained in any way," Sunstreaker said, his voice rumbling and causing Jazz's breathing function to hitch.

"What are you doing in here?" Jazz asked, gathering his wits. His body was sore and he doubted he could have the strength to fend off Sunstreaker if he decided to attack. Sunstreaker's reputation was quite prominent and Jazz had no illusions to the mech possessing a 'soft' side. He was surprised by the genuine look of respect on Sunstreaker's face.

"Just…. wanted to let you know you were heard and understood," Sunstreaker said, leaning down to where his lip plates were lined up with Jazz's audios. "And that your faith is not misplaced with us."

"Primus," Jazz whispered, feeling the audial vibrations travel along his sensors. He had no idea how someone could find that particular pitch, but he was more than willing to bask in the resonance.

Much to Jazz's surprise, Sunstreaker pressed his lip plates against his audios, earning gasping keen as the sound traveled to ajoining sensors and shocked them into life.

"Do you wish me to leave?" Sunstreaker asked, knowing full well he could get Jazz to agree to anything at this point, the mech was so far gone into the sensations of sound.

"Primus, NO!" Jazz yelled, surprising himself with the strength and conviction in his voice.

His wide optics blinked up at the ceiling, Sunstreaker's own audial vents drifting along his peripheral vision on his right as the golden mech smiled against his sensors. He expected Sunstreaker to revert to the old battle hymn that he had original graced the saboteur with, but to his utmost shock, Sunstreaker started speaking in the ancient dialect that died out before Jazz was a spark in the cosmos.

Before Jazz could fathom how one apparently so young knew such words, he was rewarded with a shuddering wave, his plating tingling and erupting like a star about to go nova. The words were foreign but spoke with a distinct accent, the words flowing easily from Sunstreaker's lip plates. Jazz gasped, his chassis heaving, his fans kicking on, his internal temp hitting the dangerous levels, but still Sunstreaker spoke those gloriously rich, deep, vibrant tones that went straight down into Jazz's spark and wrapped his soul in ancient wisdom.

Jazz gasped, arching into a phantom lover, the words touching him more intimately than any other. His spark pounded, preparing to soar with release, his body rising to match the expected flight. Just as he neared the edge, Sunstreaker paused, his breath heavy against Jazz's audio, causing the Third to tremble, his body refusing to cycle down. Jazz was unable to speak, coherent thought a vague memory as his vocalizer sputtered with static, trying to voice its words of pleasure but unable to do so.

Sunstreaker paused, feeling the heat roiling off the mech willingly subjugating himself to Sunstreaker's voice. He had only teased the mech before, but now that Jazz was unhindered and unrestrained, he would be allowed to know the full expanse of Sunstreaker's verbal arsenal. He smiled, pleased with himself and a little envious of Jazz's uninhibited display.

"Wha….. wha…?" Jazz gasped, trying to form words but his taxed systems were screaming for the release they were denied. Unbidden his servo found Sunstreaker's and grasped the artistically tampered hand in his own and pressed it against his chassis, where his spark pounded within its casing, sharing the journey to completion.

Sunstreaker stared at their joined hands. It was a very intimate gesture. And for once, he didn't recoil at the proximity nor possibility of a scratch. He smiled, knowing what Jazz was meaning. Taking pity on the writhing mech, Sunstreaker pressed his lip plates back to Jazz's audio and spoke.

"Shall I translate, young one?" Sunstreaker purred. The pitch sent jolts through Jazz's frame and as he gasped and surged in answer to Sunstreaker's voice, the golden mech translated.

Jazz was too out of his processor to focus on the words being said, but the words lifted him up and sent him soaring. He keened, his body wracked with tremors as electricity danced along his plating. His servo grasped Sunstreaker's, interlacing their digits and allowing the talented mech the chance to sense the cascade of pleasure he initiated.

Sunstreaker gasped, his own plating firing in answer, exchanging little jolts of joined pleasure. He didn't stop speaking. His words flowed smoothly, rich and intoxicating, the translation drifting into Jazz's consciousness and absorbed by his very soul.

It was the Autobot code of honor: preservation of life, fighting for freedom and protecting the innocent. The ancient words translated and reverberated from Sunstreaker's vocals and joined the two in a mutual release.

A long continuous overload later, and Jazz signaled his spiraling into unconsciousness, his body taxed past endurance. He felt Sunstreaker's fingers tighten in his own, their joined servos pressing above his hammering spark chamber before darkness claimed him. Sunstreaker shuddered, feeling the residual waves wash over his frame, his digits interlocked with Jazz's on his chassis, hoping in his own subtle way, that the gesture expressed what he couldn't say.

It took several long minutes for Sunstreaker to collect himself. He stood, feeling his back strut ache from being bent and whispering the sweet nothings of an overload into Jazz's audios. He slipped his servo from Jazz, noting the calm, peaceful look that radiated off the Third in a shimmering wave. The heat was going to take some time to dispel. Wanting to allow the mech his private basking, Sunstreaker took his leave.

As he shut Jazz's door, the door opposite opened and a stunned Prowl stood framed in the entrance. Sunstreaker glanced to the Second and out of some unknown need to rile up the Praxian, he looked the black and white frame over with an appraising, predatory optic. He grinned at the uncomfortable shift in the Praxian frame. He kept his voice low, full of promise and sensual appeal as he looked Prowl in the optics.

"Give me some time," Sunstreaker said in a low purr that made Prowl's doorwings flicker. His words were liquid sin in Prowl's audios. "I'll get you yet."

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Yes, he just HAD to go there!

Reviews would be LOVED! I wanna hit another milestone! *gets giddy*


	73. A Very Unusual Side

**A Very Unusual Side**

Combined: **NineCrow**, who wanted an explanation of Prowl's scars and **Lady Nebkhat**, who wanted to see more one on one interactions to show depth and personality between characters. These two concepts just blended right together. There will be more '1 on 1' scenarios, so as time goes on and each twin starts to come out of their shells, we'll see more sides of their personality with each bot and maybe a hint to their past that may or may not have been touched upon already.

Additional Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is property of its respective owners and parent companies. The only thing I own is the plot/idea. And like all fanfiction writers, I'm making a fortune off of this. I now have 8 moths in my wallet and more eggs on the way.

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Slagging Sideswipe.

Slag Sideswipe to the pit and beyond as far as Sunstreaker was concerned.

Leave it to Sideswipe to find a way out of boring duties. Course there was the rare time Prowl assigned the red hellion to monitor duty, but he always skirted that responsibility with video games or linking to human satellites and watching their 'pay per views.' Some of the things he watched terrified Sunstreaker, and he was a seasoned warrior.

Slagging Sideswipe.

Now, because of Sideswipe's idiotic generosity, Sunstreaker was now stuck covering his brother's shifts. He was exiting his quarters when the possible explanation hit him. Stuck in the brig, Sideswipe didn't have to spend hours sitting at a boring monitor, driving patrols with set speed limits, which were a joke to those with a fast engine and good tires, and didn't have to worry about being watched by the command element as he tried to maneuver his way through secured lines of communication.

Maybe Sideswipe didn't get into trouble just for the joy of a prank? Maybe it was the respite he got with sitting in the brig with no kind of 'duty.'

Slagging Sideswipe!

Sunstreaker snarled, his fist curling at his side as he ventured toward the washracks. It was late, most mechs already deep in charge. Sunstreaker had to patrol the western route this afternoon, and as it was Oregon's 'rainy season', he had returned covered in mud and grit. The mud he could do without, but Sunstreaker secretly liked the rain, at least the booming thunderstorms. They were powerful and violent, just like himself. He found them soothing. The louder the thunder the more at ease he felt.

Strange.

But he most certainly did not enjoy the mud and silt that caked to his gorgeous chassis. That was a nasty side effect of living close to the ocean. The silt mixed with regular earth and created mud puddles that were a gift sent from Unicron. And of course, Sunstreaker's own personal mini "hells"… _potholes_.

So now that Sunstreaker had performed not only his own tour of filthy duty, but he had performed Sideswipe's as well.

Slagging Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker crept down the hall, mindful of his pede falls. It wasn't so much as courtesy toward his fellow Autobots at such a late hour, but more of a cautionary measure to ensure no one saw him looking so filthy. As soon as his patrol was over he had retreated to his room, waiting until everyone would be charging before venturing out. Autobots were natural sociable creatures and washrack time was especially a group event. So the washracks had become a great place to gather. It wasn't uncommon to find many mechs talking and scrubbing under the taps. Most enjoyed a good conversation with their scrub down and those with a more intricate nature, it was nice to have someone to reach the places they couldn't get. The Praxians were notorious for needing help scrubbing around their doorwings. Though very few bots had earned the privilege to clean the sensitive appendages. Most were too rough or clumsy, which ended up in a painful scrub for the Praxian attached.

Blaster mentioned putting a stereo in the washracks on several occasions, but his idea was always shot down by the command staff. Apparently Prowl pointed out the danger of dancing pedes on slick tiles.

So, like social butterflies, Autobots would converge in the wash racks. There were alcoves where bots could remove their armor, placing it in large scrubbers that looked like the dishwashing units in restaurants. While the armor was being cleaned, bots had the chance to scrub under their plating and around the catches that secured the battle gear into place for every day wear. It felt great to remove the organic gunk that plied itself into joints and everyone had at least one place on their body they were unable to reach for a deep down cleaning. Moods were greatly improved when one was free of dirt and accumulated grit. Which was why Sunstreaker was looking forward to a thorough wash to remove the grime and soil that rubbed under his plating.

Slagging Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker's anger made him step a little heavier than what he anticipated, sending out a 'clang' in the hall that sounded like a bell. He cringed, picking up pedes and placing them with delicate intention on the metal floor. That's all he needed right now. Sound the alarm and get everyone up and then they'd see how hideous he looked, all splattered in mud and earthen silt caked in his joints.

He found the door to the washracks closed, which was odd.

He opened the door and was shocked to see the lighting at full display. Usually when a room wasn't in use, the lights were off or cycled to low, depending on the volume of traffic for the given room. The washracks were always in use so the lights were dimmed until someone entered, then the illumination banks cycled to high.

But much to Sunstreaker's surprise, there was one other who decided to use the washracks so late at night. He stepped into the room, his optics taking in the stripped down protoform that was under the heavy solvent wash. It was really weird to see a mech without their battle armor, especially to those who didn't socially bathe with everyone else. It took some time to get used to seeing a mech so… naked. It took Sunstreaker a moment to identify the lone mech without his usual colored plates.

The mech was thin, as per normal to basic designs, giving very little hints to identity, but Sunstreaker recognized the monochromatic armor in the scrub racks.

Knowing that no one wanted to be snuck up on, Sunstreaker broadcasted his spark signature, letting the other know he was there. Normally he shied away from such flippant broadcasts but he wanted the other in the washracks to know of his presence, and it was rude not to alert anyone despite any perceived animosity.

Doorwings hiked up, and Prowl's startled visage spun, staring at Sunstreaker.

Without waiting for a word, Sunstreaker nodded and went to another station, removing his armor and placing it on the washing trays that would take it through the cleansing cycles while he scrubbed his body. When the main pieces were off, he turned and went to an open stall, hitting the tap for heavy solvent and stood statuesque beneath the spray. It felt wonderful to have the dirt and grime loosen and wash away. He sighed, leaning his helm against the wall, not unlike how Prowl was earlier when Sunstreaker found him enjoying his own physical cleansing.

Not one to be social when he was basically naked, Sunstreaker kept his vocalizer off, his optics closed as he relished the sensation of the pouring water. He wasn't sure how long he was under the spray but a soft swishing noise drew his attention. He chanced a glance to his right and saw that Prowl had turned off his tap and was sitting on the bench, a brush in his hand as he scrubbed at his armor.

Knowing he better do the same in case someone else came in and saw him in 'less than perfect condition,' Sunstreaker turned off his tap. Much to his delight, Prowl remained on the far side of the bench, his body turned away from Sunstreaker as if he didn't want to engage in conversation. That was fine by Sunstreaker. He didn't come here to talk anyway. He went to the washing tray and pulled out his armor, looking at the still soapy gold and sighed, knowing it was almost ready to be scrubbed before being rinsed. With a huff he returned the tray to the slot and went back to the bench.

Now Sunstreaker wasn't one to gossip, nor was he one to stare at others while they cleaned. It was strange to see one striped down so bare, and that in itself took a lot to get used to, but once the drastic size differences were put aside, then the other bots were just as any Cybertronian. Sunstreaker just couldn't get over how _skinny_ Prowl was without his battle armor. He seemed so….. puny. Lopsided too, considering only the thin outer covering of his door wings were removed. The recessed sensors on the appendages were very prominent, displaying their intricate circuitry and how it wired into the Praxian's back. Sunstreaker never noticed how symmetrical it was or how skeletal Prowl looked. He seemed to be starving, but Sunstreaker knew that wasn't a correct assumption.

It was as Sunstreaker observed the physical aesthetics of his companion that he noticed the lines. Many, MANY pewter and platinum lines ran along the Praxian's frame. Most were centered to his back, a spiderweb network of interlacing lines and testament to grievous injury. The doorwings sported a few of these marks, making the fluttering appendages look like a dragonfly.

How organically beautiful.

Sunstreaker was mesmerized by the pattern. They were elegant, with perfect dissecting lines, evenly spaced and engraved into the neural mesh. Had Sunstreaker not seen Smokescreen and Bluestreak in such a state of undress, he would have assumed the lines were normal.

But he knew they weren't.

They matched the marks on the arms, the sides, and even down the legs. They were mixed together, older pewter scars fading to thin lines, intersected with white, platinum lines that were more recent, most likely, Ratchet's work. He was notorious for his suturing ability and leaving minimal scarring. It's why Sunstreaker never pranked Ratchet himself and redirected the majority of Sideswipe's antics to other bots. He respected Ratchet's artistic talent in preserving the symmetrical beauty of his patients. Sunstreaker had quite the mosaic thanks to Ratchet.

Sunstreaker was so caught up in the design he didn't notice that Prowl had stopped scrubbing and glanced over his shoulder to see why his companion was so silent. When he noticed Sunstreaker's unwavering glare, Prowl scowled, his doorwings dropping and fanning wide, hiding his frame. Instead of the action dissuading Sunstreaker's curious gaze, it only intensified it. He frowned over his shoulder, watching Sunstreaker with disdainful optics, his doorwings shifting to hide his body in self conscious gestures of modesty. Though there wasn't anything Sunstreaker hadn't seen before.

Sunstreaker's gaze remained transfixed as the door panels moved, and much to his astonishment, there was a large scar that split the dragonfly wings. The thick pewter weld mark ran almost the full length of Prowl's dorsal line. Had he been human, the knotted lumps of the welds would have looked like vertebrae.

Prowl's attention remained transfixed on his armor. He wanted to hasten its cleaning so he could cover himself. Prowl didn't want anyone to ever see his scars. He didn't want anyone to know he was vulnerable. That he could be damaged in such a way.

Much like Sunstreaker, himself.

_How could anyone hurt Prowl?_ Sunstreaker wondered, staring at the ghostly images imprinted on his commanding officer's body. Prowl was decent, quiet, fair minded, and loyal. Who could have done such a thing to him?

The question must have been written on his face, for Prowl turned away, shame burning his face plates.

"My creators," Prowl said, not looking at his companion.

"Sorry?" Sunstreaker asked, wondering what the SIC was talking about. It didn't occur to him he was just caught staring.

'My creators…. _hurt_ …me." Prowl admitted, refusing to look at Sunstreaker. "When I was sparked, I couldn't….. compute. At least, not what was considered a proper developmental rate."

"So… they beat you?" Sunstreaker asked. He could see the weld scars that looked very old, some barely noticeable as spidery webs crisscrossing the lithe body. Even the doorwings bore damage. Surely creators wouldn't be so cruel as to mar their sparkling over something so simple as the inability to understand and comprehend.

"I couldn't compute like the other sparklings," Prowl said as if that was reason enough for the abuse, his servos returning to cleaning his armor. It was shining brilliantly, though he still found flaw with its luster. "When I would make a mistake, I would be… reprimanded."

Sunstreaker remained quiet, understanding such thought processes. He and Sideswipe were beaten regularly in the Pits for clumsiness.

"When it was clear I would never obtain normal intelligence, my creators saw fit to have me formatted with an experimental processor."

"Your battle computer?" Sunstreaker asked. He knew it was powerful and had won many battles against the Cons. It was hard to imagine Prowl without the special augmentation. Course it was also hard to picture Prowl as a youngling. It was hard to picture a creator standing over a cowering Prowl and inflicting such wounds on him.

"It was experimental and I was still considered too young to allow such a thing but they found a medic who did not abide by certain codes of ethics," Prowl said, deeming the armor fit and picked up the next piece for cleaning.

"They allowed you to be experimented on?" Sunstreaker asked. A part of him, somewhere deep inside, probably behind his tank, was twisting and writhing with a sickening feeling.

Prowl offered a one sided shrug that made his doorwings flutter. It was amazing how such a simple gesture could be so grandiose and expressive. "As long as they had a sparkling who could compute at normal efficiency, they didn't care."

"But… you're glitch..." Sunstreaker said, trailing off and the hurt look on Prowl's face as he continued to scrub. When Prowl remained silent, save for the vigorous whisking of his brush, Sunstreaker added in a voice soft and so unlike himself. "The computer caused the glitch?"

"The medic misaligned my neural pathways," Prowl said, taking the bold stop of looking his counterpart in the optics. His expression was always so neutral and schooled. It shocked Sunstreaker to see it so dark and angry. "The misalignment caused a systems failure that the medic was unable to repair and my creators, being ashamed of my inability to compute, never sought to remedy the situation while it was still fixable."

"But….it's who you are," Sunstreaker said, finding the SICs words to be chilling his very spark. He didn't like this new Prowl. **This** Prowl was cold, hateful, bitter. It seemed so out of place.

"Yes, we are a collection of our experiences,' Prowl said, an edge to his voice that hadn't been presented to the outside world in a very long time. It felt good to speak in such a way. Perhaps Sunstreaker's constant aptitude considered some merit.

"It's what we endure that defines us," Sunstreaker said, repeating one of Smokescreen's favorite expressions. Sunstreaker never really liked it. Never liked Smokescreen all that well either.

Slagging Shrink.

"Yes, I am aware." Prowl spat, not bothering to level his voice. He wasn't sure where the acid was coming from, but it felt like a heavy spring in which to draw. "Much as the same as your own history. Our experiences define us and make us who we are today, good **and **_**bad**_."

Sunstreaker didn't think he'd ever flinch from such a truthful, yet stinging rebuke. It felt…. bad. Primus, is this the sensation of emotions? He didn't want them!

Prowl didn't know why he was so angry, but the acid bubbled up before he comprehend the words or could stop them from surfacing. "And Sideswipe, too. I know what both of you accomplished in the Pit."

"Do you know all of it?" Sunstreaker asked, his tone soft and reserved. This was really none of Prowl's business, but something niggled in Sunstreaker's processor, making his vocalizer open up and spew like a geyser.

Whatever reaction Prowl was expecting, that wasn't it. He stared; doorwings hiking up on his back and angling like an intent dragonfly. It was rather artistic, had Sunstreaker been in a better frame of mind.

"The necessary information was in your files," Prowl said, his brow ridge crinkling in thought. "Is there something else of note that I or Prime, should be made aware of?"

"Before the Pits, we were in a pleasure house," Sunstreaker confided, noting the elegant doorwings were twitching lightly. Most of the twins' history was omitted for good reason. It was no one's business the ordeal they had endured when they were young. But Sunstreaker wanted to let someone else know what had transpired all those eons ago. Prowl had confided in Sunstreaker about his scars, so Sunstreaker saw it only fair he reciprocate.

"I didn't know that," Prowl said, his anger leaving as swiftly as it had come. Now the acid felt cold and soothing, like a balm that had been applied to a festering wound.

"Most don't know because we chose _not_ to let them know." Sunstreaker's voice was soft, though flat. "But we were sold to the Pit. Do you know what happens to mechs when they are thrown in the Pit? Ones that came from the pleasure houses?"

"I'm afraid I do not." Prowl admitted, his processor warning him that perhaps his nativity was a good idea.

"Gladiators are rough, cruel, and take what they want whether it was offered or not." Sunstreaker confided, focusing his attention on polishing his armor. It was better to speak such things when one wasn't aware of an audience. The words formed much easier. "Mechs and femmes of all sizes and fighting ability are sheltered together in paddocks. If one likes your plating, you may find it removed or a mech forcing his way past the latches."

Prowl felt his battle computer kick on against his will. It was trying to find the best possible scenario to survive such an ordeal. It was overheating with the grim calculations.

"The first night we were there, both of us were forced to do… _horrible_…. things," Sunstreaker said, his gaze drifting up to meet Prowl's. "Things I will never speak of." His gaze dropped back down to the cleaning of his armor. "Sideswipe couldn't handle what was done to us. The pain in his spark was enough to make me do whatever it took to protect him. So I made _myself_ the center of attention."

"How?" Prowl's voice was barely audible.

"I trained harder, learned faster, and kept myself looking beautiful, keeping all optics centered on me," Sunstreaker said, pausing in his buffing to stare at the golden shine that haunted him. "We were slaves, first to a master who allowed our bodies to be ravaged by any who paid a fair credit. Then we were subjected to the rough, violent attentions of battle hardened, war trained bots who believed our more delicate frames were served best in a berth."

Sunstreaker paused, feeling a strange sensation constrict his spark. The lack of armor made him physically vulnerable, but apparently it was emotional as well. He may never take it off again. But then again, Prowl had known what it was like to be mistreated and punished for crimes never committed. If anyone could understand, he could.

"Now, we have choices, thanks to those who fight for the Autobot cause," Sunstreaker said looking to the particularly nasty gash along Prowl's chest. It bisected his bumper, slicing across his spark chamber and the plates that protected his life. "But in the pits, we didn't have the choice. It was simple. You do or you die. You endure or you fade."

Prowl's optics drifted to Sunstreaker's marred body, so different and yet, so much like his own. Were they really that different?

"It's not 'narcissist tendencies' as Smokescreen believes. It's the fact that I can take all the pain and silence," Sunstreaker said, his voice strong, cutting like a blade. "Because Sideswipe …_can't_. He doesn't have the constitution to deal with it."

Prowl looked into the navy optics in front of him, the question swimming in his vision.

"So I made myself gorgeous, where _**no**_** one** could resist me." Sunstreaker said feeling the memory of touches upon his body. "I made myself irresistible so no one would look at Sideswipe. If they didn't _see _him, they wouldn't want him."

"You….allowed yourself..?" Prowl whisper trailed off, unable to finish.

"I will always be beautiful…. so no one will have to see my brother."

"I would have put a stop to those who abused you in such a manner," Prowl said, fire once against finding its way into his body and voice.

"You didn't even know me," Sunstreaker said, a grin threatening to break his through his thin façade.

"Regardless," Prowl said, his processor burning with the illogical reaction. He knew later when he went over the conversation, has going to crash from the unintentional wellspring of emotions now running rampant. The twins were wild and unruly and downright vicious, but after all they been through, it was understandable. Besides, they could have turned out a lot worse. They could have been Decepticons.

That was a sobering thought.

"You? Trying to defend our honor?" Sunstreaker asked, an incredulous look on his face as his voice cracked with possible hints of laughter.

"Not so much as defending your honor." Prowl amended, now feeling foolish with the declaration. "But…I would have put a stop to it. It wasn't right. And you never should have had to suffer like that."

Prowl finished his little speech and returned to his forgotten cleaning. A few more whisks of his brush and another piece was immaculate.

Sunstreaker sat and stared in dumbfounded shock. Never had someone tried to defend them before. It felt weird… having someone to stand up for them. Even weirder when it was _**Prowl**_ who was doing the ethical thing. Sunstreaker smirked, picking up his own armor and scrubbing away the accumulated gunk from the catches.

"And I would have loved to beat your creators for what they did to you." Sunstreaker added without looking up from his polishing.

Prowl paused, his helm slow to turn to Sunstreaker.

"What?"

"A few hard punches to the face plate would have been nice," Sunstreaker said, brushing his armor and admiring its shine that came through from the mud. "Teach them a lesson about harming an innocent."

Prowl allowed a smirk, one that Sunstreaker was able to observe. Such action brought out a genuine smile and together both witnessed a miracle. Two the most unlikely bots were smiling, sharing in a personal joke about the protection of the other in a fabricated altered time in order to preserve the other from potential harm.

Prowl would crash later about the absurdity.

It was an hour later when Sunstreaker walked back to the quarters he shared with his brother. Most of his armor was in place but a few pieces were tucked in his subspace. He wanted to give some of the junctions time to dry out on their own, preferring the 'air dry' method.

When he finally lay down on his berth he stared up at the painted ceiling bespeckled with Iacon's expansive skyline. Sunstreaker had loved to gaze at the heavens above their old homeworld and when they crashed, he had found a suitable replacement. For the first time he could ever remember, Sunstreaker felt **home**. Where people cared what happened, and who had endured just as much hardship and suffering, and turned out to be decent mechs. Ones Sunstreaker could use as a template for his uncertain emotions. He never thought he would be able to call anywhere 'home,' nor those who dwelled here, 'family', other than Sideswipe of course.

Speaking of Sideswipe…

A small inconstancy in the Cybertronian skyline caught his attention and with a frown, Sunstreaker stared at the supernal creation, his focus zeroing in to the mark he didn't put there when he painted the mural. There was one, and then another… and another!

Sure enough, there were little discrepancies that certainly were not part of the original map. Sunstreaker stared at the view, his optics now catching the subtle changes Sideswipe had been making over who knows how long. Was that a… _Death Star_?

Yes!… and a few inches away, a _hubcap_!

Sunstreaker frowned, noting a distance planet now bore the logo of a soda company.

Sunstreaker closed his optics at the heinous tragedy that was done to his masterpiece.

Slagging Sideswipe….

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Reviews would be loved! Seriously... loved and answered.


	74. A Sensual Streak

Sensual Streaks

Request for KayleeChiara, who wanted to see the femmes visit and flummox the mechs. Sorry its not as indepth, but it was already 17 pages.

OC- Shadow belongs to me and she's really non-descript and doubtful she will ever return. I wanted to convey her ability to move as fluidily as Jazz, so hence, "Shadow" was born. I do NOT take requests for OCs, either already established or previously outlined. I insert them as I see fit and use ambiguous designations.

AN: Most scene breaks disappear when I upload. I hope it doesnt get confusing. At least I'm not writing a piece that constantly shifts the timeline. :D

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"I can't wait to see you," Chromia said, looking away from the screen and glaring at nothing in particular. "Its been so slagging long since I last had you, I think my valve's haunted."

Ironhide choked, sputtering through his vents as he laughed so hard, he thought he ruptured something. His laughter was infectious. Chromia gave him a tender look, her hand going to the screen as if to touch her lover through the light years separating them. "I love you, you crazy cannon with a twitchy trigger finger."

"You never complained about my fingers before," Ironhide smirked, placing his hand over Chromia's on the screen.

"It depends on what you did with them," Chromia replied, all sweet and sassy.

"I will see you in four million astroseconds," Ironhide said, his voice laced with promise.

"Count on it you big lugnut," Chromia said, tracing her hand over her mates on the screen, wishing they were connected by more than just a digital screen. "And when I get there I expect you to show your femme how much you missed her by showing her your big cannon."

"I'm primed and ready," Ironhide promised with a leer.

"Good," Chromia grinned, lowering her voice and leaning toward the screen. "And I expect it to go off _many_ times."

Ironhide gasped as the transmission was cut. There was a groan that went ignored as Ironhide couldn't erase the slag eating grin from his face. He turned and headed for his duties, which had been put on hiatus while there was a few minutes of transmission time available between the ARK on Earth, and Omega Supreme, who was inbound with the femmes. Bots sidestepped Ironhide, thinking he'd finally lost his mother board and was on a crazed rampage.

Jazz was looking at the controls that Ironhide just vacated, shaking his head. "Poor Omega… having to hear that."

"Poor us," Bluestreak muttered from the monitor but no one heard.

"I'm sure he's heard worse," Prowl commented, checking video feed and crosschecking it with the latest Intel. "He's had to deal with transporting bonded couples, so I sure some good natured innuendo doesn't affect his circuits."

"Great, now you have me pitying the poor mech who has to sense others fragging in his compartments," Jazz said, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

He missed Prowl's arched brow ridge.

"Your processor spends too much time in the drain," Prowl commented.

"Gutter man, I'm a _gutter_ dweller," Jazz corrected, looking at his friend and grinning. "And you should visit more often. Get that stick out of from between your aft plates."

"Gutter, straight down to sewer," Prowl deadpanned, but Jazz caught his attempt at humor. Prowl was getting better at jokes. Jazz was working on him.

"Just think, in twenty hours, there will be a base full of femmes," Jazz said, his gaze going distinct behind his visor.

"Some of them are bonded," Prowl reminded the junior officer. "So that will limit your conquests."

"Not conquests man," Jazz said. "Femmes who want to experience the ultimate pleasure with a mech who knows what he's doing and how to show them to reach their maximum potential."

"Awww Jazzy, are you bestowing our virtues already?" Sideswipe asked, sauntering up to the Porsche and putting his arm around the smaller mechs shoulders. " I told you if you want to get some tips, you can join me and Sunny with whatever femme catches his interest."

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. He was very meticulous. If Sideswipe thought he was going to join into his little 'femme hunt' on search of the femme who could stand him long enough to allow an interface, the mech was sadly mistaken. Sunstreaker didn't go for the quick "meet and frags." Besides, he was not looking forward to having anyone on base that could be nearly as perfect as himself. The title of being the most gorgeous on base would default to the femmes. He didn't find that prospect inviting.

"I have a feeling I could teach **you **a thing or two," Jazz countered.

"If you're so willing, and there are some femmes who can take pity on you, what do you say for a little wager?" Sideswipe asked, grinning in a charming devilish way.

"If you can find a femme who can get past your ego to even FIND your spike then you have a deal," Jazz countered, earning a surprised noise form Sideswipe that turned into a laugh.

"You on, short, bland, and resistible," Sideswipe countered, his grin turning into a leer.

"And may the best mech win, you clumsy egotistical knockoff," Jazz said grinning to match his adversary.

Sunstreaker looked to Prowl with an expression that clearly said, 'Help me,' but Prowl shook his helm and ventured off to finish his report.

The next day when the femmes arrived it was utter chaos. Bonded couples greeted each other with enthusiasm and to no one's surprise, immediately retreated to private quarters to reconnect with their missing mates. When the couples parted company from the singles, there were ten femmes remaining…. And twenty mechs all gracious to greet the new arrivals.

Sideswipe and Jazz zeroed in on the same pink femme and started an argument over who saw her first. The femme blushed, flattered by two males who were fighting over her attentions.

All of the femmes presented as any member of the Elite guard. They were fast, lithe, witty, and kept the male egos in check with caustic remarks and disdainful looks and uninterested snorts. It was clear they didn't arrive just to find a berthmate.

Defeated over never getting the chance to exercise their interface arrays, the group converged in the rec room, where earthen music started to play and the femmes relaxed into games of old Cybertron. Smokescreen took it upon himself to show the ladies how to play poker, and within half an hour, he was indebted to two of the femmes. The twins stilled premium high grade, Prowl giving them permission as long as they kept the lewdness to a minimum.

There were ladies present afterall.

Respectively the twins had kept their promise. By the time the bonded couples decided to join their comrades, the majority of the troops on both sides were intoxicated. Blaster was playing music while two femmes and Jazz argued over the lyrics to the karaoke song. As their arguing reached epic proportion, Blaster turned off the music to quiet down the crowd. When the music faded, Tracks started a lively round of an old drinking song on Cybertron. Much to everyone's delight, Prime joined in, followed by Elita who had no problem using the virulent words. Several of the ARK crew stood as statues, listening to the gorgeous femme sparkmate of their leader sing lyrics that would take the rust off Omega's aft plates! And she didnt even bat an optic!

The twins toasted Prowl as he decided to join the party, marching Red Alert away from his cameras and ordering the mech to get toasted. Before Red Alert could argue, Prowl grabbed a cube of high grade and tossed it back, before grabbing another and heading off to the table where Smokescreen was losing the paint off his chassis. The two new femmes took a real liking to the game of poker, and had easily identified all the mechs tells. Much to Smokescreen's shock and relief, Prowl asked to be dealt in and by three hands he had taken half of the femmes accumulated winnings Frowning the two femmes whispered, trying to understand the black and white mech but no mater hard they tried, they couldn't find any tell on his hand. Prime was still singing a ditty from the docks when Ironhide started the drinking game setting up the shots and showing the new arrivals the 'rules' of the game. High grade was poured and the calamity began.

The next morning dawned to some startling discoveries. Sideswipe snuggled Jazz who was held in his arms, the saboteur with his head leaning on Sideswipe's shoulder. Ironhide was face down on a table, Chromia no where to be seen. Tracks was lying on a table with energon coating his paint. There were glossa streaks in the high grade liquid, two femmes and Mirage, Hound, Trailbreaker, and Warpath circling the drunk Corvette at the table. All had taken turns doing body shots and were in various states of stickiness.

Blaster was upside down on the stereo consol, his pede propped up on top of Gears' head where the minibot sat on the floor, his optics off in charge. Smokescreen was passed out at the poker table, his door wings laying flat against his back, Optimus Prime was seated on the floor next to the Praxian, his helm resting in Smokescreen's lap. A roll of toilet paper had somehow migrated to Prime's right audial fin, the white paper trailed down the leaders head and pooled on the floor. Elita One's head was face down on her mates crotchplate.

Red Alert was passed out on top of a Firstar, who was sleeping on Infernos chest. The three red painted bots looked like an exhausted flame that had guttered out. Ratchet, Wheeljack, Perceptor and the pink femme Jazz and Sideswipe had originally argued over, were crumpled in a corner, looking like a stack of dominos that had fallen.

Sunstreaker stretched on his berth, his internal chronometer telling him that the others would be waking soon. His systems were slow to boot, his joints offering pops and hisses in protest. A soft hand touched his chest, forcing him to open his optics. A black plated femme smiled at him, her hand going to his face and stroking the angular features. Sunstreaker grinned, knowing his brother was going to be pissed when he realized he missed out on a very eventual, and flexible femme.

"I should go," she said in a voice that was like velvet to Sunstreaker's audios. "Before the others wake up."

"Afraid of sullying your reputation?" Sunstreaker asked, his engine humming as her ministrations started to reawaken his senses.

"Hardly," she said with a grin. "It's more of the other way around."

"And why would you sully my reputation" Sunstreaker asked, his arms snaking around the femmes frame and pulling her flush against him.

"What can I say?" the femme said, caressing the male body that trapped her against him and warmed her circuits. "I like my mechs easy."

Sunstreaker arched his brow ridges. He wasn't going to deny getting the femme to the berth had been difficult, nor hesitant in her experimentation. Feeling an overwhelming need to assert his dominance he rolled the femme over, pinning her to the berth with his weight.

"What do you say, we go another round?" Sunstreaker asked, grinding his hips against hers, his ego inflating as she gasped and writhed, fighting her natural reaction to his presence. Much to his shock, she snapped out of her libidinous mood.

"No thanks," she smiled an innocent, easy grin. With agility not found on the ARK, she flipped him onto his back, planted a quick kiss to his lips, then vacated the berth. She was standing at the open door before Sunstreaker gathered his wits. A coy smile loaded with promise flitted across her face before she slipped through the door like liquid smoke.

Not one to be foiled by a femme, Sunstreaker got up and followed. He couldn't care if his body was scratched and covered in interfacing fluids. Nor that his panel was wide open allowing inspection. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

When he got to the hall he gasped, finding it bare of the femme's presence. She disappeared like magic. Knowing she couldn't have gotten far, Sunstreaker turned left, heading toward the rec room. When the empty hall greeted his optics he frowned and went back to his quarters, going right and heading in the direction for the crew quarters. Much to his utmost surprise, two femmes were standing in the doorway to Bluestreak's quarters. The three were in a heated exchange of passionate kisses, servos ghosting over frames in a way that suggested they were far more intimate than just friends.

"Did anyone see a black plated femme go past here?" Sunstreaker asked, breaking up the lovefest in the hall.

The trio broke apart, acting like scared younglings who were caught stealing goodies. When they realized it was Sunstreaker and not a commanding officer, the femmes returned their attention to Bluestreak. The trio exchanged joint kisses before allowing each other their own personal, physical goodbyes before they departed. A yellow femme smiled when she pulled away from Bluestreak, her servo going to his still exposed intimate equipment. With a seductive look she slipped her finger along the seams, collecting their joined lubricants. As she walked away she smiled, her lubricant coated digit slipping between her lips, her optics giving Bluestreak a knowing look that had his engine revving.

"Have you seen a femme?" Sunstreaker asked, oblivious to the sensual display just provided.

Bluestreak snapped out of his thoughts and shook his head. "Just the ones that left. Sorry."

Without another word, Bluestreak shut his door.

Sunstreaker later reflected that was the first time Bluestreak had used a short answer before ending the conversation. Sunstreaker sighed and went down the hall, taking the turn that lead toward the officers' quarters. Much to his utmost shock, a tiny emerald green femme was slipping past a door, her back to the hall as she gazed inside to the still unconscious owner. Sunstreaker came up right behind her, looking past her petite frame to see Prowl passed out on his berth, flat on his face, one door wing reposing on his back, the other propped up against the wall. There were scratches and green paint all over his body. And when Sunstreaker looked over the escaping femme, he saw plenty of monochromatic transfer.

"Have you seen a black plated femme?" Sunstreaker asked.

The femme shrieked with a jump, spinning around and planting her back against the door and falling through the open threshold. The noise was enough to wake Prowl. He leapt ungracefully from his berth in an attempt to defend a screaming, distressed femme. Unfortunately his overcharge, coupled with vigorous interfacing and disorientation, he ended up doing a strange pirouette off the berth that made him flap his arms for a second before overbalancing and landing heavily on his face against the floor. He groaned and scrambled to his pedes, swaying and feeling the room spin as he took in his surroundings.

"What…. Is.. going… on?"

"Just looking for a black femme," Sunstreaker said, waving the glazed officer off with a dismissive hand and went back to the search for his elusive prey.

By noon the entire drunken forces were staggering back to a normal routine. Everyone promised not to indulge in such a manner again and were disappointed with themselves and their friends for their behavior. When the command staff staggered into the main command hub it was to find Chromia at the controls.

"What…. Are you doing here?" Prime asked, static in his vocalizer.

"Someone had to check over surveillance while you light weights slept it off," Chromia said, spinning in the chair and giving the Prime a beaming smile.

"But… You ingested just as much…" Prime said. It was Elita who explained.

"Chromia has a cast iron tank. It takes nearly a planet to put her down," Elita said, giving her friend a disgusted look. Chromia grinned.

"Are we still on for sparring lessons this afternoon?" She asked, still plenty of energy to burn and some mechs to put to shame.

"Tomorrow," Prime said, missing the look of disappointment.

It took the rest of the day for the overcharge to evacuate their systems. By the next mooring, the base was back to normal and Prime was just about to call a meeting when the klaxons went off. Must to everyone surprise the femmes were already geared up and awaiting at the entrance to the ARK.

"How'd you do that?" Jazz wondered.

"When you're base moves around as much as ours and you can be terminated by scouting drones, you learn to be fast," Chromia said, missing the look of sadness from her mate.

The earth mechs looked away in disgrace. They didn't realize how much the femmes had suffered during their stasis.

"Roll out!" Prime called.

Much to everyone's surprise it was Chromia and the black plated femme who shared Sunstreaker's berth that took point, maneuvering around the dual Lamborghini's who always lead the procession.

"Help you?" Sideswipe called, getting behind Chromia and finding the speed to be admirable. Had she not been bonded to Ironhide he may have taken a run at her.

"Just stay out of our way," Chromia called happily, the lithe black frame beside of her keeping an even pace. "Come on, Shadow! We have work to do!"

"On your tailpipe boss!" Shadow called, feeling a warm tingling along her energy field that recognized Sunstreaker behind her. She felt her plating heat at the memory of his touch and though she wasn't one to linger on conquests, a part of her, the very feminine side, had found the golden mech to be lingering in her meta more often than she cared to admit. Which was why she avoided him since that night together and had sampled many lip components of other mechs. None had made her feel any tingling the way Sunstreaker had that night.

"Seekers at high noon!" Sideswipe called, accelerating and swerving around Chromia to take lead. He transformed in a blur of snarls, Sunstreaker a perfect copy on his left. Like a well practiced maneuver, Sideswipe launched his brother into the air and ignited his jetpack.

'**The Autobots have arrived!'** Skywarp called, teleporting out of Sideswipe's range. **'And there's a lot more of them!'**

'**What?"** Megatron bellowed. His optics zeroed in on his enemies and sure enough, their numbers were nearly twice the count.

"Get off of me!" Starscream wailed as Sideswipe dropped down from the cloud cover and landed on his back.

"Miss me, baby?" Sideswipe crowed, wrapping his arms around the jet's body. With a grin he drew his helm back and smashed it forward, shattering the glass cockpit.

Starscream howled and bucked in midair, trying to rid himself of his passenger.

Megatron took one look at the Autobot forces and ordered a retreat, leaping into the air and providing cover to Astrotrain who had a cargo hold full of energon cubes.

Chromia transformed, her blaster in her hand, Shadow and Firestar taking flanking positions. As a well synchronized unit they fired, Shadow and Chromia walling in the laden shuttle while Firestar took up aim. If they struck his armor in a weak point, it would pierce the hull and possibly ignite the cubes inside. Her finger was on the trigger when comms opened.

'**Do not fire upon them!'** Prime ordered, transforming and watching as the twins tussled with Starscream and Thundercracker.

'**I can hit his fuselage from here,'** Firestar argued, still sighted in. Much to her surprise, Bluestreak stepped in, moving Shadow from his path and placing his servo on the barrel to lower it. She gave him a dark scowl but Bluestreak didn't respond. She jerked her rifle from his grip, her lip curled in distaste as she barely sighted in her target before pulling the trigger.

The shot grazed Astrotrain's wing but didn't deter his path.

'**Firestar, stand down!'** Elita-1 ordered, joining the quartet. Bluestreak offered a nod to the femme commander and left, giving them privacy for their rebuke. Chromia glared at Firestar in disapproval. Shadow slipped away, not wanting to be in the middle of her senior officers dressing down a friend.

Shadow eased next to Prowl, who gave her half a glance, his attention drawn to the distance where Starscream was filling the air with a verbal barrage.

"What is he doing?" Shadow asked, as Sideswipe stood up on top of the jet and gave a jump, initializing his maglocks and slamming into the jet's wings with his pedes.

Ultrasonic shrieks greeted everyone's audios and like a slow motion disaster, a flash of purple appeared, white light erupted, and Sideswipe was dislodged from his anchor. He tumbled through the air for a moment before igniting his jetpack and taking aim at the retreating seekers.

"I didn't know the Cons had femmes," Shadow said, listening to the high pitched sounds of a feminine vocalizer.

"They don't,' Prowl said, watching the distant chaos. He was hoping the twins would get it out of the system and wouldn't cause any trouble on the base for awhile.

"Then, who's screaming like a femme?" Shadow asked, two femmes joining her and watching the show.

"That is Starscream," Prowl said, Jazz joining his friend and offering a dashing smile to the three femmes. "He always sounds like that."

"Sure he's a mech?" Shadow asked, sounding suspicious.

"There's no proof," Prowl deadpanned, ignoring the feminine looks and Jazz's attempts at gaining some attention. Jazz had yet to take a femme to berth, and Prowl was seen escorting the same emerald green femme around the base, including to his quarters late into the evening.

Thundercracker barrel rolled, trying to unseat Sunstreaker who had managed to wrest his fingers into the jet's cockpit and manipulate the controls. A loud, vibration filled the air before Sunstreaker was thrown free, a sonic blast sending him flying from his opponent.

Sideswipe redirected his path, ignoring Skywarp as he escorted a wobbling Starscream back toward the ocean. Thundercracker soon followed suit, taking up the rear to protect his injured trineleader.

Sunstreaker snarled obscenities as he fell, his voice getting louder as he called out for his brother to catch him before impact. When Sideswipe caught him, Sunstreaker verbally assaulted him for scratching his paint and making a mess of his finish. He was still griping when the duo landed next to the command unit, Sunstreaker feeling extra self conscious when Shadow offered an appraising smile. Apparently the scratches didn't affect her opinion of him.

Prime called for a return to base and as Firestar took her place, properly chastised and now embarrassed about her actions. With no real injuries, though Sunstreaker protested his scratches were serious, Ratchet congratulated the Autobots on their rare victory. He even put a mark on the wall to commemorate the occasion. After noon the soldiers lined up for some good natured skills competitions.

First up, was sharpshooting, and the femmes presented their very best. Firestar. She was good, and earned several affectionate kisses from Inferno, her earlier slight now forgotten.

When Bluestreak stepped up, the two femmes who spent the nights with him smiled and offered coy looks meant to distract. They enjoyed sharing his berth but they wanted their own gender to win these little competitions. They would play up all their attributes to ensure the victory for their gender.

Bluestreak didn't even look at the target before his finger squeezed the trigger. The femmes played innocent and flirtatious, hoping to distract the mech who had given them quite the night and much to their stunned surprise, Bluestreak hit every target without variation. When it came down to the final shots, Firestar set off a series of shots ranging in distance. Bluestreak smirked and waved off the drone to reset the targets, though Firestar's ration was seven bulls eyes to ten shots. Three shots were close, but not bull's-eyes. Bluestreak grinned, steadied his rifle and shot, piercing Firestar's bullet holes with all ten shots, then went to her three missed targets and shot them dead center. He smiled like a happy youngling at everyone's gaping looks.

"Told you he was good," Ironhide muttered holding out his servo. Begrudgingly Chromia placed some credits in his palm.

Firestar congratulated Bluestreak on his aim and when the next informal competition presented itself, Chromia smirked at Ironhide and took position with the black femme who had shared Sunstreaker's berth. She smiled at the twins when they came forward, their contest one of hand to hand skills.

Being two front line warriors, they sized up their smaller opponents. Sunstreaker knew his opponent was lithe and rivaled Jazz with the ability to move and disappear. Everyone knew Chromia was just as tough as Ironhide and though she was paired off against Sideswipe, she knew he would go easy on her because of her gender.

Chromia kept her smirk to herself, her optics taking in the trim frame that was about to be declared her rival. She cast a gaze to Ironhide, noting how he adopted a soft smirk. He knew his mate could take care of herself. She wasn't helpless and simpering like so many femmes. That was what drew him to her in the first place.

Prime and Elita spoke to their fighters respectively, their voices low as to not give the enemy the upper hand.

"They're tough," Elita said in Chromia's audio. "But you're tougher."

"Piece of oil cake," Chromia grinned.

Shadow offered a nod, having already eluded Sunstreaker since their shared night together. Why she was avoiding him she didn't know. It wasn't like he meant anything, other than another notch to her berth. But her thoughts drifted to gold more often than she cared to admit. But now was not the time to thinking about how gentle the mech's hands were. Nor the softness of his kiss, and firm, yet yielding touch as he explored her body. His voice, his handsome features, and the sounds he made when she reciprocated his affections. It was enough to drive her to distraction. And she was going to use the same tactic on her would be attacker.

"I know your tough and you have no problem terminating," Prime said, giving both Lamborghinis a worrisome look, his gaze lasting longer on Sunstreaker. "But please, do not kill either one of them. They're on _**our **_side, _remember_?"

"No promises," Sunstreaker said, stepping toward the elusive black femme who gazed at him with her sultry optics. He felt his panels heat just by looking at her. But, not one to be deterred from an opponent, he set those feelings aside and concentrated on the task at hand. He was a professional, front line warrior after all. And an ex-gladiator. It was easy to compartmentalize and put his priorities in order.

"We won't hurt them too bad, Prime." Sideswipe smiled at Chromia's measured look in his direction. "Don't worry."

Prime whimpered in defeat and joined his sparkmate, who appeared just as worried. The two Autobot leaders shared a look that clearly stated this wasn't such a good idea, but against their better judgment, they allowed it to continue.

"Begin," the two said in unison.

Immediately Chromia started to cry, shrinking back, her servos covering her face as she wept. Sideswipe panicked. He looked around the assemblage for help before going to her, his arms open wide in offering to hold the crying femme.

"I won't hurt you," Sideswipe said, feeling like slag that had terrified the femme into hysterics.

The black plated Shadow, was adopting the same pose, though Sunstreaker approached without his arms wide in invitation. As one unit the two femmes lurched upward. Chromia struck Sideswipe with a series of blows, knocking him cold, a surprised look on his face as he fell.

Sunstreaker didn't give his femme time to make contact. As soon as Shadow started to move he had his fist drew back. When he was in full motion he struck, punching her in the face and dropping her like a drone.

Chromia heard the sound of a body landing and thought her fellow femme was victorious. She turned and found Sunstreaker regarding her for a split second before he moved, taking the last couple of steps between them. Her face barely registered the stunned fear before he captured the femme in his arms. He squeezed her in a bear hug before falling forward, crushing her between him and the ground.

Chromia emitted a grunting growl when Sunstreaker's weight fell on top of her pinning her to the earth. Her ire doubled when she realized she was completely immobile in the mechs arms. With acid twisting her tanks she relinquished the fight.

Sunstreaker released her and stood, giving her a skeptical look before turning and grabbing his brother's arm to drag him to medbay to have his olfactory sensor reset. Chromia winced as she rose to her pedes, her chest caved into two halves where Sunstreaker's arms had bent the metal with the impact behind his full weight.

"It didn't work on him," Chromia muttered as Ironhide stepped in front of her to shield her from the others while she recovered her dignity.

"Sunny doesn't care who or what you are," Ironhide said, hearing the next set of combatants called forth to square off. "He just sees an enemy and pounces. You're lucky he went so easy."

"_**This**_ is _**easy**_?" Chromia asked, opening her arms to show her heavily dented chest plates.

"Compared to what he could have done?" Ironhide said, his digits tracing over the edges of the powder blue chest plates, causing Chromia to shiver. "Yes. It could have been disastrous."

Ironhide jerked his head toward the ARK in a silent command for his mate to get medical attention. The dents in her chassis were deep and could have caused damage to her spark chamber. And with the duo's recent berthroom activities, Ironhide wanted to make sure his mate was healthy lest he damage her without realizing. Neither were submissive nor gentle in their amorous affections. He offered a rare smile, filled with adoration toward the only one who could tame his soul, before going to Shadow's unconscious form and hoisting her into his arms.

Jazz quirked a brow at the gentle-botly behavior but took up position, squaring off against the yellow femme who had shared Bluestreak with her friend. She offered a knowing smile, making Jazz smirk in answer before Prime called for their contest to begin.

Sunstreaker was stationed by his brother's side in the med bay, waiting for Sideswipe to return to consciousness. Ratchet had reset Sideswipe's askew sensor and marched off to attend Chromia's damaged chest plates. Ironhide placed Shadow on a berth and disappeared with his mate and Ratchet in an isolation room. No doubt Chromia was going to have to have her chest plates removed and repaired before they could be reinstalled.

Abandoning his slumbering brother, Sunstreaker went to Shadow's berth, looking over her frame with interest. He didn't know why she was avoiding him. He had thought their night together was quite memorable, his performance more than exemplary. But the previous night he had wandered base, looking for her and much to his dismay, she had followed Tracks to his quarters. This morning there were a couple of blue scuffs on her body that blended into well with her black paint. It was barely noticeable, but Sunstreaker, the consummate artist, noticed the discrepancies right away. With a scowl he turned away and marched back to Sideswipe's berth and plopped himself down in a chair. If the femme didn't wish his company, he wouldn't inflict it up on her.

When Sideswipe finally awoke, Sunstreaker grabbed his arm and marched him from the med bay. Ratchet was still sequestered inside the isolation ward, apparently having difficulty in getting Chromia's chest plates off and repairing the damaged latches. Sideswipe wisely remained silent as he allowed his twin to steer him away from Ratchet's domain. He could feel something inkling along the bond but since it was a foreign sensation, he didn't know what to classify it, let alone how to make it go away.

"Where are we going?" Sideswipe asked, noting the lateness of the afternoon. The crowds would be heading to the rec room soon and Sideswipe wanted to get a good table.

"Quarters," Sunstreaker grunted, not in the mood for socializing.

"I'll meet you there later," Sideswipe said, turning down a side hall. "I want to join the party."

"Fine!" Sunstreaker snapped. Only two things could truly vent Sunstreaker's anger. Battle and art. Both were beautiful and destructive and helped Sunstreaker to vent his emotions through his hands, whether they sculpted a piece or pulled an enemy's spark from their chest.

Sunstreaker rerouted his steps and went to his studio, which was carved out of the rock by the Dinobots to give the temperamental warrior his space. Several mechs had rooms etched in the volcano as places they could go and get away from the hectic life of a soldier and be alone with their thoughts. In Sunstreaker's case, alone with his mediums.

Crates lined the wall along with the makeshift workbench that had been pilfered from Wheeljack's lab. Not that the scientist realized he had a bench missing, but the compartments built into the unit were helpful in keeping artistic supplies in order. One just has to ignore the scorch marks and slight warping.

Sunstreaker shut the door, turned on the 'Do Not Disturb' light and set to work. Acrylics weren't the medium he needed, so after two failed attempts at a painting, he set them aside and grabbed watercolors. After four pieces of watercolors, he centered his attention on the slab of marble that was observing in the corner. Originally it was going to be used for a dedication piece to Cybertronian solstice, but with the creative flow surging through his lines, he opted to use the cold stone to express what he was feeling in the here and now. If he even knew** what** he was feeling. It was strange. He was angry, but didn't know the cause. If he knew, he could go settle the problem like any other.

Beat the living scrap out of whoever had slighted him or caused a transgression.

But Sunstreaker didn't know. He just felt raw and cold, yet burning from the spark out. It felt as if his spark was trying to consume him. And then there was the rage. A deep, churning inferno of it, boiling just below the surface.

Sunstreaker opened his subspace and found a cube of high grade to sip on while he worked. Usually when he was in a creative mood, he rarely refueled and charge wasn't an option. He created, he thrived, he suffered, he wrung his artistic muse dry until he could no longer function. Then, exhausted and half starved, he would step back to admire his work, downing some much needed fuel before his consciousness fled.

It was a vicious cycle. But it definitely had its perks.

After the marble had been sculpted, and Sunstreaker wasn't sure what directed his servos, but a rather beautiful feminine form shimmered into existence from the pink and gold marble. The face was blank, commercial, displaying no unusual features to capture it to memory, but Sunstreaker felt it was exactly as it should be. He stepped around his masterpiece, taking in every nuance of the curves, the high polish of the marble, the glinting of gold that accented all the right places.

Still feeling his creative energies thrum through his body, Sunstreaker unrolled a sheet of canvas. It was difficult to find the suitable canvas in the bolts he required for his more 'expansive' endeavors. Luckily a supply warehouse had began to custom make large bolts the Cybertronian artist could employ and cut to fit whatever design frame he had in mind. Sunstreaker could do a painting to cover the Washington Monument if he so wished, not that he would deface such a thing. He admired the human work of art, thinking it a beautiful rendition of an ivory spike.

Several mediums were opened, the canvas spread along the floor. Sunstreaker stood back, looking at the collection, trying to decide which one he should start first. He wanted to finish the project on a mixed media, including some of the marble chips that had flew off when he carved the feminine masterpiece.

As he was contemplating where to start, he became aware of another presence in the room. He turned, looking to the door and finding Shadow leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chassis.

"What are you doing in here?" Sunstreaker demanded, taking a couple steps to the femme who dared invade his personal space.

"Haven't seen you in a few Earth days," Shadow said, undeterred by the powerful frame stalking toward her.

Sunstreaker paused, checking his internal chronometer and finding that he had been in his artistic haze for four days. Certainly wasn't the longest he had been in such a state, but it was the first time that someone had interrupted him.

"Do you not read?" Sunstreaker snarled, knowing his light was still on for solitude. There was a sign on the door that warned about possible dismemberment if one disturbed the artist at work. Apparently Shadow didn't understand. She would soon find out.

"It's been days," Shadow reiterated, noting the paleness of Sunstreaker's optics. It made him seem mad, and capable of anything. And the way his lithe frame moved toward her, it was enough to make her rethink her decision to enter his domain and disturb his work.

"The sign reads, "Do **NOT** Disturb", in case you were wondering," Sunstreaker said, his voice low and threatening as he advanced.

Shadow felt her fuel lines run cold at the predatory look her gave her. Thinking quick, she offered a fake smile, taking a step toward the door.

"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude," she said, trying to escape. Maybe interrupting the mech wasn't such a good idea after all? She barely touched the edge of the door when Sunstreaker was upon her. His servo slammed into the wall on one side, then the other, boxing her in. Fear lacing her vocalizer, she gasped, "I'll scream."

"Go ahead," Sunstreaker purred, lowering his arms to further ensnare his victim. "The room is carved out of rock and the door is a blast model that can withstand Wheeljack's best moments."

"I'll send out a comms," Shadow said, hoping to scare off the male boxing her in.

"And I can have you deactivated by the time anyone arrives," Sunstreaker growled. The vibration of his voice was detected by Shadow. She shivered against her better judgment.

"You wouldn't dare," she whispered.

"Everyone knows never to venture in here while I'm working," Sunstreaker said, feeling heat roll off her frame. It wasn't the reaction he was hoping for, but he would work with it.

His thoughts must have translated to his face because Shadow's optics went wide and without him knowing how, she escaped him. He smiled, a feral, dangerous look, sending out the frequency to lock the door. No one knew the code, not even the command staff. They knew better than to disturb the dragon while he hibernated in his domain.

"Unlock the door!" Shadow commanded from where she had skittered to the corner.

Sunstreaker turned in slow motion, zeroing in on his elusive target.

Shadow felt as if she was just doused in cold water. That look didn't bode well for her. Hoping to distract the deranged mech, and she was sure he was deranged from the icy whiteness of his optics, she shoved a cart over. Paint cans spilled, falling across the unrolled canvas on the floor. Bits and pieces of metal shavings, polished rocks, and other assorted shrapnel Sunstreaker used in his multi-media art, skittered across the surface.

It was the wrong thing to do.

Sunstreaker's gaze went to the spilled contents of his collected pieces, his optics were dark when they returned Shadow's look.

"Wrong move," Sunstreaker said in a deadly whisper.

Like a blur of sunshine he moved across the short distance and had Shadow pinned against the wall. She kicked him, scratching the paint along his shin. He gripped her arms, pulling her flush against him, his frame vibrating in anger.

No one made a mess of his studio but him. Not even Sideswipe was suicidal enough to do such a stupid thing.

Much to Sunstreaker's surprise, Shadow shuddered against him, her optics going dark but not from anger. She surged against him, her servos going to his arms and gripping tightly, pulling him against her. Before he could decipher her intent, she had pulled him into a kiss that left his knees weak.

He broke the kiss and spun them around, tossing her from him and sending her skidding along the canvas. Paint splattered on her black plating creating a nice contrast. Sunstreaker smiled and advanced, intending on showing the crazy aft femme **exactly **what a possessed mech can do.

Sunstreaker didn't show up the next day when the femmes said their good byes and boarded Omega Supreme. When Sideswipe sent out a nudge through the bond, it was met with a powerful mental block that prevented him from sensing his twin. Apparently Sunstreaker was still in his surly mood. The mechs waved the femmes farewell, Jazz giving Sideswipe a cross look

Sideswipe frowned toward the ARK, feeling the distant, stone solid block that kept him from his twin. Whatever was keeping Sunstreaker's attention, it must have been good because Sideswipe sensed flashes of brilliance that left him reeling.

Sunstreaker and his slagging art!

Sideswipe shook his head, following his comrades back into the ARK as Omega disappeared from view. He had seen the black plated femme flit from mech to mech, never finding their company engaging and moving on to the next like a hummingbird to nectar until she disappeared the day before the femmes were to leave. Sideswipe had looked everywhere for her, hoping to sample her affections but much to his disappointment, she was no where to be found. Sideswipe exchanged a glare with Jazz, both still cross with the other because they both lost their wager. Neither had berthed a femme but they woke up many times in each other's arms. Neither could remember falling into charge in such a manner. But they took it as personal insult.

Sunstreaker was rarely seen for two weeks and when he finally graced the rec room with his presence, mechs gave him curious looks as they saw the splattered golden frame that looked like it just went through a ticker tape parade.

To no one's surprise Sunstreaker announced a collection of finished pieces that were going to be displayed at the next art's festival in Portland. When the Autobots saw his work they were dumbfounded. Never had they witnessed such a display. The human population had never witnessed such a thing either. As the Autobot's stared at the pink marble femme, the humans stared at the series of canvases that displayed paint splotches, scrapes and scattered debris. To the humans it looked chaotic. A swirling mosaic of color and pieces and as the humans started an argument over the emotion of the centerpiece, which wrapped around three walls of the new art museum.

Sunstreaker's contributions had lead to the showcase being large enough to cater to a Cybertronian, the humans enjoying the idea of having a museum with three levels and the added bonus of being chest high to the alien visitors.

"We will ask the artist!" a man declared, waving at Sunstreaker, who excused himself from his twin and the two socialites who drove Lamborghinis. When Sunstreaker was close he pointed to the canvas that stretched and wrapped around three walls. Unlike the rest of the pieces, this one wasn't labeled and there was no price tag. "What's this one called?"

Sunstreaker looked at the streaks and the prints that were distinctive of two bodies rolling around in paint and scattered shrapnel and he would never admit what some of the discoloration and staining of the canvas meant. Sideswipe gained his brother's side, having an inkling to the marks and when he noticed the area that captured Sunstreaker's attention, he smirked. There were distinct aft marks and pede scratches along the paint that were accented by Sunstreaker's golden palm prints.

The clueless humans waited for the artist's poignant explanation.

Sunstreaker canted his helm, a look of peaceful reflection on his face as he said, "_That's what you get for not listening."_

The humans nodded in apparent understanding of the transcendental mysteries of an artists perspective while Sideswipe stood back, snickering at the gullible innocence of the organic natives.

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**Review would be LOVED! And I cant believe I'm over 1100! Wow! I'm just in awe! THANK YOU ALL!**


	75. The Sunny Sides of Blue

**The Sunny Sides of Blue**

Request from Morrigayn DeWyvern, Special thanks to SunnySidesofBlue for allowing me to incorporate user name with a story. It fit perfectly! Thank you!

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Sunstreaker stared at the wide, round optics of the sparkling. It was small, much smaller than what he believed them to be. The optics were a bright, but dark blue, making the little one's optics seem as an ocean. Sunstreaker had visited a few organic worlds in his travels. This youngling's optics was the same color as the ocean. Deep, enchanting, and always in motion. Its face was oval and symmetrical, earning Sunstreaker's approval of its frame design. The creators knew how to build. Course if they didn't the little one would have ended up as scrap before being found by rescue crews. The little thing was the sole survivor of a major metropolis. And it was barely sparked.

**He**. Ratchet confirmed. Mechling.

Sunstreaker looked over the tiny frame again, noting how the little one watched him just as intently. The two adversaries stared, watching the other as if waiting for the next transgression. Since the main city was destroyed, sparkling records were lost. A few 'pacifists', and Sunstreaker felt his engine thrum in anger at the title, were scouring files in search of youngling's designation. Even though their city had been destroyed, the neutral Praxians still refused to help excavate the bodies of their fallen and assist the rescue teams with searching for survivors. They wanted no part of the war. The extent of their involvement would be in identifying bodies, or in this rare case, the sole surviving sparkling from the main city hub. When designations were complete, the neutral Praxians would seek asylum in one of the colonies, refusing to assist the Autobots in fighting against the Decepticons.

Since everyone was at work trying to save what files they could and laying the dead to rest, Sunstreaker, a front line warrior who slagged off the entire command crew with his callous disregard to the destruction and verbal attack on the commanding officers, was tasked with caring for the youngling until a suitable caregiver could be found. Sunstreaker had vented and fumed, believing his talents could be put to better use searching for survivors in the neighboring suburban terrain, but Optimus Prime made it an official command.

And everyone noticed the hard edge to Prime's voice when he issued the command to a simmering Sunstreaker.

Ratchet nearly stalled out upon Prime's declaration of Sunstreaker's newly appointed station. Ratchet gave the youngling a clean bill of health and Sunstreaker, still snarling at the command element, tucked the soot colored sparkling under his arm and started carrying him toward the washracks. If Sunstreaker was going to be caught seen with the sparkling, the least he could do was polish him up to look almost as perfect as Sunstreaker. Unfortunately no one told Sunstreaker that younglings didn't like to be carried as datapads or message supply containers tucked up under arms. The little one started whimpering and kicking, its small pedes striking Sunstreaker's lower back, aft, and thigh as it chirped and struggled in his grip.

A once beautiful copper building had been put into use as a barracks for the soldiers, giving them a place to wash and refuel, the upper levels used as charging quarters. Sunstreaker stormed to the makeshift base on the outskirts of town for the rescue crews to wash away the ash and energon after their shift of searching for survivors. He grabbed the wiggling sparkling and before he could position the small body to a more comfortable carrying position, the little sooty frame scrambled up Sunstreaker's chassis and tucked his small helm under Sunstreaker's chin. The youngling chirred so hard his frame vibrated.

Sunstreaker found the washracks, thankful it was empty as everyone was out with the rescue effort and resigned himself to scrubbing the filthy youngling clean. It took a moment of groping, but once the little one settled down, Sunstreaker was able to extract him from his neck, holding the youngling away from his body by one hand. The ashy mechling chirped, trying to dislodge the powerful hand holding it by the torso. Sunstreaker hit the tap, making it erupt with cleaning solvent. He held the youngling at arm's length and allowed the water to flow..

As soon as the sparkling got under the spray, he emitted panicked beeps and shrill cries of distress, his little digits digging into the seams around Sunstreaker's restraining servo. Though he was small, his panic driven digits found sensitive wires. Sunstreaker winced, determined to outlast the youngling's distress. When a few scratches appeared along his forearm, Sunstreaker growled in anger, causing the little one to bolt rigid, his frame trembling in fear.

Using the sound to his advantage, Sunstreaker turned the dirty sparkling at different angles, frowning when the ash refused to wash off. He narrowed his optics, noting that the solvent had yet to loosen the cinder. Thinking some assistance would be needed, Sunstreaker grabbed a soft bristled brush and began to whisk it across the mechling. It took several swipes to realize the youngling's plating was _supposed_ to be grey.

Sunstreaker frowned at the very boring coloring, his gaze drifting to the miniature doorwings that sprouted from the mechling's back. The black, protective plating on the doorwings were hardened, the outer shell remaining durable and resistant to injury while the neural mesh in the doorwings matured. When the youngling was old enough, the panels would be removed, allowing him to sense the world around him on a whole new level. Right now, he was muted, his processor and body too young to translate the more complicated physical sensations that filled the outside world.

The sparkling looked to Sunstreaker, still held at arm's length, and let out a soft chirp, his little servos extending toward the large mech who hovered just beyond reach.

Not sure what possessed him, Sunstreaker brought the youngling close to his body and felt it snuggle immediately to his chest plates, centering itself over his spark beat. The grey frame trembled, little servos moving against the smooth golden armor in little feeble twitches.

And Sunstreaker wasn't sure how it happened, but his arm crooked, supporting the small body, nestling the young one close to his spark, his opposite servo ghosting along its grey helm. Tapered fingers that had rendered the most awe inspiring artistic expressionism and terminated countless mechs without hesitation, assumed the roll of soothing a youngling. Sunstreaker stood under the shower, simply staring at the small gray mechling as he sought comfort and warmth. Wide blue optics regarded the golden mech with endearing trust.

Sunstreaker turned off the shower, grabbed a thick drying cloth from a rack and wiped down the little one's plating. When he was dry, Sunstreaker grabbed the other cloth and tucked it around the youngling's frame, mindful of his cooling vents. The little one gave a few clicks, his optics beseeching the powerful frame holding him so gently.

Making sure he was alone, Sunstreaker allowed a smile, his digits tracing over the finely crafted miniature frame. He clicked back, earning a buzz of static and a frown from the youngling. The clicks turned into chirps, that escalated into frame shaking thrums, the little one becoming more and more agitated though Sunstreaker didn't understand his transgression. Thinking the little one didn't want to be held any longer, Sunstreaker sat him down on a table, the drying towel falling around the grey body and eliciting a shiver from the much smaller frame. The sparkling started to whimper, his vocalizer emitting chirring clicks as he stared with accusing optics to the one who abandoned him on a tabletop.

So now two wary combatants sized each other up. Sunstreaker not knowing what was causing the youngling such distress and the abrupt loss of companionship confused the youngling's processor. With wide, watery optics that moved as an ocean, he stared up into the golden visage so high above him. A soft beep came from the small grey body, his cries silencing in favor of a trembling frame. Neither understood what was expected of the other.

Sunstreaker was about to comm. someone to come help him when Jazz entered, carrying a small cube-like container with blue energon.

"Here," he said, handing Sunstreaker the cube. "He'll need this."

With a look to the youngling watching their exchange, Jazz departed, a smirk on his face as he had the foresight not to mention the numerous scratches on Sunstreaker's paint. The mech was not going to be happy when he realized his imperfections.

"Right, fuel," Sunstreaker said more to himself than to the youngling. The feeding cube was more 'rectangular', the pale blue shimmering like precious stones. He sat the feeding cube down in front of the youngling and nodded. "There you go. Enjoy."

The youngling looked at the glowing fuel, its optics as ever in constant motion of turbulent seas that shifted to Sunstreaker. Instead of reaching for the fuel, it opened its arms and extended to the golden mech in expectation.

"Oh no, you eat alone," Sunstreaker said, wondering what made the energon so blue. The glow made the younglings optics seem more organic than ever.

A soft click was heard, the youngling looking to the offered meal, its small servos grasping the edge, looking for purchase. It was obvious the young ones grip was no match for the size of the container.

It took several moments of fumbling before Sunstreaker realized the youngling's insufficient motor controls, and lacking strength to feed himself. Sighing with a disgusted surrender, Sunstreaker grabbed the tall rectangular container and held it up, allowing a few drops to fall from the tapered end. The youngling chirped, grasping the cool crystal container, drinking the shining blue tears as they escaped in a steady flow to his analyzers.

Sunstreaker adjusted his hold on the feeder, his optics staring distantly at the feeding youngling while his processor drifted to his twin. He wondered how Sideswipe was fairing with the removal and disposal of the deal. It would be nice, getting out of a confining room and engage in physical action that would garner results. Anything was better than sitting with a companion who couldn't talk back in the silent, suffocating walls of isolation. Anything was better than being so useless, with a sparking to look after and wasting his consider skills in cleaning up a battle zone.

Just when Sunstreaker started thinking about comming others for sparkling stating duty, and wondering if the youngling could survive in his subspace pocket for awhile if no one relieved him, the tiny servos reached up and touched his finger. Startled Sunstreaker stared at the youngling as if never seeing such a thing before. And without fear or hesitation, the small fingers grasped Sunstreaker's own, using his weak grip as an anchor to the one steadying his fuel.

He didn't know what came over him or how he even knew what he was doing, but Sunstreaker pulled the youngling against his chassis, pressing it against his spark beat and held the modified apparatus up for the youngling to feed . A soft coo was his reward as the small body nestled perfectly against his armor.

Sunstreaker ventured into another room and found a half berth. From the composition of the furniture it was made to support those with wide doorwings. Sunstreaker found the cushioning very soft and accommodating, though a little narrow for his likely. He settled onto the reclining chair, his legs stretching out along the plush surface. A couple of cushions served the purpose of further supporting those with a doorwing design. Sunstreaker thought it felt great against his back as he settled in, his young charge looking absently for his feeding bottle.

Sunstreaker adjusted the small being in his arms, laying the mechling on his back, his stunted doorwings fanned out across Sunstreaker's chest. He held the feeding bottle level for the little one and for a few moments such an arrangement worked. Then the mechling started to squirm, twisting to the side and nearly dislodging himself from his living berth. Sunstreaker's servo tried to steady the wriggling body to keep him from falling, but he was adamant with his movements.

Being flat on his back may not have been the best option on those tender doorwing hinges, so Sunstreaker allowed the little gray youngling a chance to find out what was comfortable for him. And apparently he liked to be held flush against a chassis, tucked against a body, his helm pressed over the soothing rhythm of a spark. He stared up at Sunstreaker with those unfathomable blue optics, swirling as an ocean with elemental power, and gave a chirp, confirming his desired position to be held.

Quirking an optic ridge Sunstreaker exchanged a glare with the youngling, as if contemplating the new position and finding it to be suitable, Sunstreaker relinquished. He held the feeding bottle up, the little one's optics zeroing in on the container with hunger. He began to eat, his analyzers distributing the dribbling fuel into his immature systems. Sunstreaker watched, fascinated as the little one continued to stare at him from his arms, those ever present blue optics shining over the shimmer of sparkling grade energon. The small grey servos were resting on the feeding bottle, as if to help the adult in the complicated process, but after a few minutes, the youngling's optics started to shutter and dim. His tiny servo slipped from the bottle and much to Sunstreaker's surprise, it went to his golden chest, the minute fingers clenching as if to grip the pulsing spark inside. Sunstreaker stared at the youngling's servo as it groped against his armor, the fingers brushing along the plating in tired submission. Sunstreaker cradled the mechling closer, feeling the systems shut down into charge. A soft, grateful coo escaped before slumber claimed him, his servo pressed directly over Sunstreaker's spark as if guarding his life.

Sunstreaker wasn't sure how long he sat there just staring at the sparkling held in his arms until an urgent message from Ratchet pulled him from his thoughts.

'**What?'** Sunstreaker snapped, more irritated that he was interrupted from his drifting thoughts.

'**Bring the little one!'** Ratchet barked. **'Now!'**

Sunstreaker rose and darted out the door, the sparkling held close to his body. Luckily he was fast asleep and didn't wake on the trip to the emergency medical tent where Ratchet had directed Sunstreaker's step. When Sunstreaker burst through the door, the voices of the patients and rescue teams were a loud buzz. Sunstreaker looked to his charge and found him still fast asleep. Ratchet noticed the blur of gold and motioned at Sunstreaker, the expression on the medic's face telling him it was beyond imperative he join him by a berth that was occupied by a burnt Praxian.

Sunstreaker barely made it the berthside when Ratchet pointed to the small lump of gray nestled in Sunstreaker's arms and asked, "Is that him? Is that you're sparkling?"

Sunstreaker couldn't stop the startled noise that escaped when he took in the Praxian's form. One door wing was gone, the other crumpled. The left side was burned to black, wires melted against the armor. The right side sported numerous dents, punctures and scratches, the edges of the armor already graying. Much to Sunstreaker's dismay, it was a soft feminine voice that answered.

"Yezzzzz," she sputtered, her one optic trying to focus on the small bundle.

Sunstreaker was about to ask how she was able to tell, given that her senses were so far compromised, it was a wonder she could sense anything at all. But then he felt the small youngling jerk, as if in answer to her voice, and a soft, chirping warble answered her voice from the slumbering youngling.

"Bllllluuuuzzzzztreeeeeeekkkkk," she said, her voice cutting into static. She turned her broken gaze to the mech holding her sparkling safely in his arms, her melted face speaking louder than any words, but she still forced them through her frozen lip components. "Ppppproootectttttt himmmmmm…. Pleeeezzzeeee?"

Sunstreaker could only offer a muted nod, his own voice robbed from emotion overcoming his senses. Primus! Shouldn't Ratchet be _**doing**_ something?

The femme offered a smile to her sleeping youngling, her systems sputtering, causing her body to jerk as power was lost. With a gasping sigh, she fell silent against the berth, her gaze still locked onto that of her child. Her final fleeting vision was her son held protectively by a mech who would honor his promise to care for her youngling as her spark gave one last flicker before extinguishing.

"Why didn't you do something?" Sunstreaker's voice was barely over a whisper.

"There was nothing I could do other than give her peace of spark knowing her youngling was still functioning," Ratchet said, turning from his patient and surveying the assorted casualties. There were a few bots rescued from the outer regions of the city. Most suffered burns and a few severed limbs, but nothing that was life threatening. Most others were terminated and with the devastation surrounding him, Ratchet felt overwhelmed and unsure of himself and his place in this chaotic world. He was out of his element in the field. He couldn't save them all, no matter how hard he tried. And that was something that he took to his berth every night, the faces of the dead staring with blank optics and accusing him of being a poor medic.

Sunstreaker looked to Ratchet and the expression the medic wore was enough to dissolve any animosity that may have been building against him for allowing the femme to pass. Ratchet was taking her death hard, and it just occurred to Sunstreaker how much the war weighed on the healer. Primus, he could give Prime a run for his credits on guilt!

"They're readying the transport now," Sunstreaker said, listening to the comm. chatter. "I should get Bluestreak back to Iacon where we can find a true caregiver for him."

Sunstreaker brushed his fingertips along Bluestreak's slumbering helm, feeling the little one's spark beat match his own. Since Sideswipe had joined the rescue efforts, Sunstreaker had been alone. Not that he would admit to such a weakness, but Sideswipe's constant presence in the bond was soothing. Irritating too. But Sideswipe had become lost in the shuffle of rescue workers and refugees and the craziness of trying to find survivors from a devastated city. When his 'tour' was finished, he had evacuated to Iacon to affect repairs and recharge his batteries. His signature had been muted for the past couple of hours.

"Don't let Wheeljack anywhere near him.' Ratchet warned and there was no humor in his optics. The past few hours were still oppressing him like a blanket. "Last time he made building blocks for younglings, when the red and yellow cubes were placed together, they caused a subfrequency harmonic that made their construction unstable. Nearly killed the younglings."

Sunstreaker gave a worried frown, suddenly imagining Bluestreak in such peril. He tightened his hold on the youngling and asked, "Who were they?"

Ratchet paused, his face twisting from disappointed pain to dark glee. "You and your twin." He snorted at the deadly combination of Wheeljack's little invention and added, "Figures. Slagging insane, the whole lot of you."

"Watch… your… language," Sunstreaker admonished with a stern voice and promptly turned and marched away, shielding the sleeping youngling from the caustic words of a deranged medic.

Sunstreaker kept to himself on the ride back to the capitol city, Bluestreak charging the entire trip. When the duo entered the quarters Sunstreaker shared with his twin, he found the room in its usual mess. Bluestreak chose that moment to wake up, and like all newly awakened younglings, he chirped a whimper, rubbing his optics.

"Welcome home, Bluestreak," Sunstreaker said, placing the grey mechling on a table and leaning over him. Bluestreak chirped at the sound of his name, his protected doorwings offering a happy flutter. "Did you charge well?"

Bluestreak warbled an electronic noise, his optics powering up and resembling the motion of the ocean.

"This place is a disaster and not safe for sparklings," Sunstreaker said, looking at the assorted junk that filled the room. Most of it was Sideswipe's. He liked to pilfer shiny things. Sunstreaker thought it was a sickness. "I'll make you a deal. I'll clean up and make it safe for you and you stay right there and be good while I work?"

Bluestreak frowned, trying to understand the adult words. He looked to his servos, the little digits opening and closing into minute fists. A quick glance to the table top and he knew there wasn't any of his usual toys here in this new place.

"So, do we have a deal?" Sunstreaker asked, holding out a datapad and eyeing the youngling.

Unable to actually speak, Bluestreak chirped, his gaze curious as it locked onto the datapad. He was interested in what the big golden mech was holding. The screen had pretty colors.

"This is a designer's pad," Sunstreaker said, placing the datapad in front of the enraptured youngling. He touched buttons as he explained, "This one changes fonts. This one changes colors. And this button brings up different design shapes as a template."

Bluestreak's optics were transfixed by the dancing screen. A soft cooing sound came from his frame as he touched the screen. The colors changed the design and with a happy chirp, Bluestreak was lost in the novelty of his new toy.

"You play and don't move," Sunstreaker ordered, though he knew the mechling wasn't paying him any attention now. He was determined to change the colors on the screen. Sunstreaker could respect that.

Bluestreak stayed mesmerized by the screen. Sunstreaker put away paint and brushes. Stored weapons and ammunition on a high shelf in a locking cabinet. Sideswipe's strange collection, half of it undetermined in origin, Sunstreaker placed in a large trunk, locking the storage device to prevent youngling inspection. Sunstreaker was almost done when the door opened, Sideswipe falling through over the threshold, a purple femme held in his arms. Both were tittering at each other, their optics unfocused by high grade.

"So, you have a big gun?" she asked, her voice soft and simpering. The way Sunstreaker hated them.

"To rival the Prime's." Sideswipe jeered, pulling the femme flush and revving his engine.

"There will be quite enough of that talk and if I see servos drift to the interface panels, they will be ripped off and thrown into the hall, regardless of owner," Sunstreaker growled in warning, his frame vibrating with anger.

Bluestreak's optics left the datapad and followed the brilliant red and purple bots that had entered the room.

"Oh, is this the brother you were telling me about?" she asked, her drunken optics barely focusing on the golden mech glaring at her from the middle of the room.

Her tone and words were enough to cause Sunstreaker to rankle further. He took a step toward the pair, noting they still fondled each other's panels with obvious intent.

Well, Sunstreaker would just have to quell their desire.

"Sunny! We have a guest!" Sideswipe slurred, his vocalizer filling with static.

"I am aware," Sunstreaker growled, now standing within arms reach of his twin. "I suggest you take your liaison to another location."

"I thought you said he was fun?" she asked, pouting in a way that made Sunstreaker want to punch her.

"He is," Sideswipe said, his hand drifting between the femmes thighs and caressing her panel.

"There… is… a …. Sparkling… present!" Sunstreaker snarled, grabbing his brother's wrist and squeezing hard enough to dent the metal.

"Sparkling?" the purple femme asked in surprise. She shook her head. "I don't want a sparkling. Just a frag. Don't want anything beyond that!"

"Watch your language!" Sunstreaker snapped like an ion storm, causing the femme to flinch as if struck.

Sideswipe opened his mouth to ask what had gotten into his brother when there came a soft chirp from behind Sunstreaker. He looked over his brother's shoulder and saw a small gray lump of a sparkling sitting on a table, his bright blue optics focused on the adults.

"Where did you get that?" Sideswipe asked.

"Only survivor from inside the Praxus inner city zone," Sunstreaker said, jerking his head toward the curious youngling. "His name is Bluestreak." He hardened his gaze to the two amorous bots, his voice dropping to low, dangerous levels. "And if you wish to enjoy each other's company, I suggest you find somewhere else to indulge. There will be no _romantic intentions_ in this room while Bluestreak is here."

"Where am I supposed to go?" Sideswipe asked, suddenly feeling wary of the sparkling. It was small and didn't really say much. But for some reason, and he couldn't explain it, it made him… angry.

"I have several suggestions," Sunstreaker sneered. "But there's a sparkling present."

"And a femme," the purple femme corrected.

Sunstreaker gave her outlandish color scheme a disgusted look before sneering, "Wouldn't have made a difference to me."

Before Sideswipe could argue, Sunstreaker grabbed him and tossed him out of the room. The femme soon followed, Sunstreaker making sure her aft plates skidded and left a clashing streak on the orange floor. The door shut and locked, Sideswipe unable to break his brother's code.

"Sorry about that," Sunstreaker said, turning to Bluestreak and finding the youngling to be interested in the adult interaction. "I think there's plenty of room now, if you want to move around."

He went to the edge of the table and much to his joy, Bluestreak raised his little arms, indicating he wanted to be picked up. Sunstreaker obliged, picking him up with a little cuddle before depositing him on the floor.

Bluestreak looked at the wide open terrain to explore but he wanted only one toy. He looked to the table, his arms rising, digits grasping at air as if to call the datapad to him. Sunstreaker took the hint and placed the datapad in the young one's lap. Bluestreak chirped a thanks and set to work on his masterpiece, not seeing the smile on his caregiver's face.

Sunstreaker went to a shelf above his berth and extracted a datapad and a large metalmesh blanket. He threw the blanket on the floor, picking up a grumbling Bluestreak and placed him near the center, before joining him, stretching out with his own datapad. He remained engrossed in the pad for all of two minutes, before he noticed happy chirping and much to his astonishment, Bluestreak had worked his way over to the golden mech and settled against his side. Doorwings arched and lay over Sunstreaker's hip, while Bluestreak leaned back, safely lounging against his caregiver.

The two remained positioned on the soft blanket until Bluestreak's optics started to droop. His helm tilted to the side, landing on Sunstreaker's thigh as charge overcame the little mechling. Sunstreaker smiled and picked him up, not minding the small frame nuzzling against his plating as he went to his berth, placing Bluestreak between himself and the wall. He slipped into charge with his servo resting on top of Bluestreak, the little doorwings bobbing as the youngling dreamt.

The next morning Sunstreaker awoke to wide blue optics and a soft chirp.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked, his fingertips grazing the youngling's helm.

Bluestreak warbled in an electronic noise, telling his caregiver exactly what had transpired during his charge. Sunstreaker listened intently, his comms signaling a slew of missed messages. He opened them, listening to the many messages from Sideswipe proclaiming his anger and vehemence at being removed from his own quarters. There was also a note from First Aid, the secondary medic on base. He reminded Sunstreaker that the little one needed special grade and that some had been refined and was waiting in the medical wing.

"You hungry?" Sunstreaker asked, feeling his own tank give a rumble. He had fueled before heading out to search for survivors, then given the duty to entertain a short little Cybertronian.

Bluestreak gave a chirp in understanding.

"Let's go find something good to ingest, then we hit the racks," Sunstreaker said, feeling grimy though he had very little exposure to the wrecked city.

Bluestreak seemed to agree. He held up his arms, telling the adult he wished to be carried. Without begrudging the mechling, Sunstreaker picked him up and carried him out of his quarters. Sideswipe was laying unconscious in the hall, his fist still formed and resting on the edge of the door. He remained motionless as Sunstreaker passed, his servo going up to hide his drunken brother from the youngling's view. Young processors should not witness such stupidity.

First Aid greeted the duo and instantly doted on the little sparkling. Sunstreaker frowned, subspacing most of the feeding cubes. He cradled Bluestreak to him and tipped a fresh cube to the youngling, who shifted attention from the medical officer to his feeding apparatus. He drank hungrily, his servos covering Sunstreaker's, earning a smile from the golden warrior as he headed back to his quarters.

"After you eat, I'll have a little, then we'll scrub ourselves and I'll show you how to polish to make you shine enough to be illegal," Sunstreaker promised.

Bluestreak buzzed in answer, his vocalizer unable to operate while ingesting fuel. Bluestreak drained his cube by the time they reached Sunstreaker's quarters. He sat, hiccupping chirps coming as Sunstreaker poured himself a full cube and downed it in a few gulps. Since the twins were frontliners, and Sunstreaker carried the title of an antisocial maniac, the twins had their own washracks and fuel dispensary.

It never occurred to him the audacity of the Prime with his new responsibility.

Sunstreaker smiled, hoisting the youngling into his arms and went into the washracks that joined with the room next door. Thankfully it was empty and Sunstreaker could enjoy a good wash. And educate a young mech on the proper maintenance of one's frame and how to polish their bodies to the point of blinding lesser mechs.

Sideswipe staggered in when the duo were rinsing, Bluestreak giggling at the tickling spray.

"You slagger," Sideswipe growled, ignoring the hissing rebuke by his twin.

"Language!" Sunstreaker snapped, causing Bluestreak to stop giggling and look at the golden mech.

'**Quickline was willing to do whatever we wanted,'** Sideswipe griped over comms. He glared at the grey mechling held in his brother's arms. Why Sunstreaker didn't mind the clashing infant, Sideswipe couldn't fathom.

'**Not with Bluestreak here,**' Sunstreaker said, grabbing a brush and raking it across Bluestreak's back, causing the little one to squeal in laughter and wiggle to evade the tickle brush.

'**What if I want to bring someone back for a frag?'** Sideswipe asked, nudging his brother away from the spray so he could wet his armor. **'You saying I'm banned from my own room because of a little… Primer Pest?'**

'**Bluestreak is the only survivor of Praxus,'** Sunstreaker said, jostling the youngling under the spray to remove any remaining solvent. Bluestreak laughed at the action, his arms waving with joy. **'While he's here, you won't corrupt him.'**

'**Oh, like you're a fragging model of perfection?'** Sideswipe countered.

Sunstreaker's brow ridge shot up in a perfect imitation of Prowl. "Of course I am."

Sideswipe gave a loathsome look to Bluestreak, jerking his head toward the door. "Get out of here. I want to wash down my panels. They're very uncomfortable because they were denied exercise last night."

"Come on, Bluestreak," Sunstreaker said, grasping a drying cloth on the way out. "Let Sideswipe relieve some tension so he'll be a better mech."

"I would be better if my spike was allowed some exercise," Sideswipe called, earning another scalding rebuke that he ignored. It was going to be very difficult to watch his language around the small circuit.

Sunstreaker had barely gotten Bluestreak dried off when there was a comms.

'**Sunstreaker, you are needed in the command center to cover a shift for Blaster,'** Prowl said.

'**Busy,'** Sunstreaker said. Being a front line warrior he had a very limited skill set. Sitting at monitors was not part of his programming. He was needed in battles. All other times, he was free to do what he wanted, just as long as he remained on call for skirmishes.

'**That was not a request,'** Prowl said, going over his duty roster. **'With most of our forces out looking for survivors, we are short staffed.'**

'**I'm taking care of Bluestreak,'** Sunstreaker said, smiling at the youngling when he grabbed a round silver ball bearing that was a momentum from a downed gestalt team the twins dismantled. Bluestreak found the ball bearing to be very shiny and fun to roll around.

'**I understand the youngling is your top priority as it was a directive given by Prime himself, but we are short staffed and there are a few mechs who are educated in our surveillance operations,'** Prowl stated, sounding just as drone and monotonous as the screens that blinked before him.

Several memory cubes were found, most of them loaded with questionable imagery and glowing in different colors. Bluestreak started to arrange the colors in order, then started stacking them, lost in his own little world.

'**Only because Sideswipe and I hacked the system and learned its parameters,'** Sunstreaker amended, smiling with pride when Bluestreak grouped the colors according to their breakdown by a prism. **'Sideswipe is free. He can do monitor duty.'**

'**He relieves you in sixteen joors,'** Prowl said. **'Now get up here before I put you on suspension and throw you in the brig. I do not believe you would want Bluestreak to join you there.'**

'**You wouldn't dare!'** Sunstreaker snapped, scowling at the voice on his comms.

'**You should know by now that I do not bluff,**' Prowl said before cutting comms.

Sideswipe chose that moment to appear, a drying cloth swiping over his plating in sure strokes.

"I have monitor duty,' Sunstreaker said roughly, turning his brother. "I can't take Bluestreak with me so that means **you** have to watch him until I get back."

"Me?" Sideswipe squawked. "What am I supposed to do with it?"

"**He**!" Sunstreaker corrected. "Bluestreak just needs someone here to make sure he doesn't get hurt. When he gets tired, he likes to press above your spark chamber and be fed while he slips into charge." Sunstreaker subspaced a sparkling feeding bottle and placed it on the table. "Oh, and be careful with his doorwings. Though the protective plates are still in place, the hinges are very sensitive and can hurt him."

"Whoa!" Sideswipe said, raising his hands in a defensive manner. "I didn't agree to sparkling sit! I don't know what to do. I don't **want** to know. And I most certainly_** don't**_ want to be stuck with it during the entire time you're on monitor duty!"

"You don't have a choice,' Sunstreaker snapped. "I cant take him with me and until they can place him somewhere safe, he's **my** responsibility, which by default, means he's also _**yours**_."

Sideswipe grumbled, looking like he was about to throw a temper tantrum.

"First I can't bring anyone to my own berth," Sideswipe said, skirting around the words he so desperately wanted to use. "And now I have to take care of a stranger's sparkling?"

"His carrier was able to see him before she terminated," Sunstreaker said, venom gone from his voice. He looked to Bluestreak, who had been watching the adult conversation with interest. "She spoke his designation before she terminated. Bluestreak never got to say goodbye."

Sideswipe frowned, not liking the sensations flooding their bond. Whatever had gotten into Sunstreaker must have been bad. Possibly infectious. Sideswipe had never known his brother to have such a tender spot in his spark. This little mechling must have something of note to cause a steadfast warrior to be so gentle and patient. Bluestreak rolled the ball bearing toward Sunstreaker, who knelt down, smiling, and rolled it back. Bluestreak grinned, rolling the ball back. When Sunstreaker went to return it, Bluestreak picked up a block and placed it in the path of the ball, preventing it from reaching him. He giggled, grabbing another block and soon was immersed in building a fort around the ball to prevent its escape.

Sunstreaker stood up, his expression turning stern as he regarded his brother. "Watch him. If anything happens to him, a raging Prime will be the least of your worries."

Without another word, Sunstreaker left. When the door slid shut, Sideswipe turned his burning gaze to the small lump of grey that was sitting in the middle of his nearly unrecognizable room.

"You're more trouble than your worth," Sideswipe growled, still feeling a sting from the female attention he was denied.

Bluestreak placed the last memory cube on top of the box, and looked up to Sideswipe. He looked back to his makeshift blocks, and picking out the one that had a deep carmine tint, he lifted it toward his temperamental caretaker.

Sideswipe took in the small body surrounded by pseudo-toys and the offered cube that coincided with his paint scheme. Big blue optics regarded him, innocent, curious, and so sinfully adorable. Sideswipe's gaze locked with the fathomless optics as the two stared into forever. It suddenly hit Sideswipe like a transport vessel.

In slow motion, Sideswipe lowered himself opposite of Bluestreak, taking the offered cube. A happy chirp was his answer as Bluestreak grabbed another cube, showing the adult how to stack the pretty colors.

Sunstreaker was at the monitor when he felt the unnatural feeling coming through from his twin. He rubbed his chassis, his brow plates creasing as he tried to decipher what he was sensing. Then a wave of protectiveness, and adoration flooded his senses, nearly dislodging him from his seat. He smiled, knowing his brother had just fell prey to the optical oceans.

Sunstreaker grinned, scaring the others performing their duties. If someone would have told him he would have been entrusted with the care of a sparkling and that he would honestly display 'soft emotions', he would have slagged them. Now?

Well…. Now he couldn't wait to finish monitor duty so he could return to the ebbing tide in a sparkling's optics and to hear the soft coo as immature systems curled close, trusting the arms that held them while an orphaned youngling succumbed to his dreams.

And woe until anyone who dared to threaten or harm the little mechling, for they would be slagged to the Unmaker by an overprotective adoptive caretaker sent straight from the Pit.

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It totally went in another direction. I don't know what happened. *sighs*

Reviews as always, will be loved and hugged and cherished and called 'george'….. :D

And I want to hear... how many went "AWWWWWWW"...?


	76. When the Sun Quakes

**When the Sun Quakes**

**AN: I know, the last chapter was adorable. Now, to torture some Lambos. **

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Jazz snickered as he headed down the hall. His plan was in full swing and he felt a tingling in his circuits that he was going to have to share with someone later. The best part about the plan was that Sideswipe would get the blame. The ruby mech had already taken the blame for most of Jazz's stunts thus far. It was fun to place the blame on the Lamborghini. When Sideswipe had a good laugh, he was more than happy to take the punishment. Provided Jazz compensated him later. Which usually meat distracting Prowl and that's where Jazz's tingling came into play. He snickered. Again. Times like these, it was good to be sneaky and unsuspecting. It was also good to have a resident prankster on board who could and would willingly take the fall. Sometimes Jazz pulled a stunt to see what Prowl's reaction would be, and if Sideswipe had the lug nuts to accept the misplaced blame. So far, Jazz's tally was impeccable. A feat he kept to himself, lest he be forced to find another outlet for his tingling.

That prospect was sobering.

No one was watching, since all cameras were offline in the hall. Unashamed and embolden, and knowing it wasn't being recorded, Jazz opened his interface panel. He sauntered down the hall like a king strutting about his castle, waiting for an unsuspecting damsel to satisfy his desires.

Primus bless Wheeljack. The mech had accidentally blown up a cordless telephone and the resulting blast wave had taken out half of the security cameras. Now, the entire base was blacked out from video feeds. Which meant that mechs like Jazz could float through the base doing whatever they wished and there were no cameras to capture the incriminating evidence.

Jazz shook his head. Sometimes Wheeljack was a friendly terrorist. His spark was in the right place but his processor obviously had corrupted databanks. Now, with the security system down, half the mechs were stationed around the perimeter while the crews worked.

The minibots had taken the nightshift, save for Brawn who was out repairing the more difficult security installations. He was the only one small and strong enough to wedge into the confines that Red Alert had used to anchor his security measures. How Red Alert got them installed in the first place, was still a mystery seeing how only Brawn was qualified to be lowered into position and strong enough to stabilize the platforms to Red Alert's rigid standards.

So now, anyone could flit about the base and no one would be the wiser. Or in Jazz's case, walking around with their intimate parts showing and no one to yell at them for indecency. Unfortunately for Jazz, Optimus Prime turned the hall and nearly collided with his Third. The two almost bumped into one another, had it not been for Jazz's quick thinking due to his special ops training. He jumped to the side to allow the much bigger mech to pass, though there was a wide, accommodating hallway.

"Prime,' Jazz nodded in respect.

"Jazz," Prime answered, his optics darting down, then back up again. Without skipping beat Prime continued on his way, calling over his shoulder, 'You're fly is open."

Jazz smirked and closed his panel. Jazz entered the command center in time to see Sunstreaker shove Sideswipe away from him with a rumbling threat. Sideswipe giggled and took his leave, grinning at Jazz. Jazz watched Sunstreaker type on the terminal, his optics scanning for Deception signatures using Tele-Tran's long range sensors. With the security system undergoing such an overhaul, the Autobots weren't taking any chances. Thankfully Tele-Tran had a vast network of spy satellites in orbit and could keep an optic on things from a birds eye view.

"Sunny," Jazz greeted, stationing himself beside of Sunstreaker so the warrior could keep an optic on him. Sunstreaker was notorious for guarding his rear flank. Jazz learned the hard way to stay in the warrior's peripherals to prevent retaliation.

Sunstreaker turned icy optics to Jazz, his scowl so deep on his face, it was a wonder he didn't have permanent age lines.

"It's **Sunstreaker **and you're late,' Sunstreaker snapped, typing in his code and releasing the monitor duty to the next in line.

Jazz offered a happy smile and took the seat Sunstreaker vacated. "Had some issues to deal with. There's a whole army that is under my command."

Sunstreaker scoffed and exited, not bothering for a dismissal from his commanding officer. Sunstreaker only took true orders from two mechs, and both of them were outside guarding the borders. Sunstreaker wouldn't admit to taking orders from Prowl. But the SIC did have some sway over the golden mechs actions. A minute fraction, but it was still present.

Feeling a vindictive mood hit him, as it normally did when he had been exempt from any rough activities for any length of time, Sunstreaker ventured back to his quarters via the long way. He turned down the right hand side of the hall instead of the left, opting to walk by the empty officer quarters, then turn down the hall to the minibots area, then another turn before getting to the room he shared with Sideswipe.

Knowing the minibots only had four hours of charge, Sunstreaker stomped his pedes, making them ring through the halls like sadistic bells. To add to the din, he started honking his horn and emitting screeching noises from his vocalizer. A wicked smirk appeared on his face, distorting his handsome features into something macabre. He heard bodies falling off their berths and shouts of shocked surprise coming from more than one room. He got to the end of the hall just in time to hear the first door open. Waiting for the perfect moment, Sunstreaker heard three of the doors open before he turned in slow motion to sneer at the sleepy pests when his voice died in his is vocalizer.

The minibots were standing in their doors, fists raised, faces contorted in anger, shouting and threatening to dismantle the idiotic jacknut who disturbed their rest. One by one their voices died down as they looked to each other, stepping out into the hall to confirm the same diagnosis that everyone had been inflicted.

Sunstreaker turned to hurl an insult but felt his body lock up, his vocalizer no longer responsive. His body started to shake, his optics going wide. In the washracks Sideswipe dropped to his knees, clutching his chest above his spark chamber as his bother's fear bled over the bond in an unexpected assault.

Sideswipe's pain was short lived as panic filled the link before the entire base was bombarded with piercing wails of terrified anguish. Sideswipe's cries of agony went unheard as he struggled to his pedes. He fell against the wall twice before finding his footing to stagger out the door. Using his brother's screaming spark as a beacon, he clutched his chest, sending out comms and spark pulses, hoping to get his brother to answer his questioning summons. But Sunstreaker only flooded with the bond with a white noise of terror before the bond closed on a void.

Unsure of the source, everyone stood rooted in place. All the bots patrolling the parameter looked toward the ARK, wondering if there was an incursion while they weren't looking. Their optics scanned for the cause of the commotion and only when Sunstreaker came barreling past the sentries outside did the screaming dissipate with a fast transformation and the tortured sounds of rubber on asphalt as Sunstreaker lived up to his name.

"What the slag was that all about?" Ironhide asked, watching as the shrieking Lamborghini disappeared from view.

Sideswipe came skidding to a halt at the entrance, looking between the mechs stationed as guards. Water dripped from his armor in a little puddle that was quickly absorbed by the earth. His hand was rubbing his chest, his face set in lines of worry.

"What is wrong with Sunstreaker?' Sideswipe asked, looking from Ironhide to Hound to Perceptor.

"Beats me," Ironhide said, giving a little shrug. "Just heard screaming, then Sunstreaker's tires spinning out and then he was gone. He must be doing near two hundred."

"We were under the impression that it was something you did," Hound said, with a serene look to Sideswipe.

Prowl, Mirage and Tracks came into view, weapons drawn. Ratchet came huffing behind, fully expecting a medical crisis. Prime came running from inside the ARK, his weapons drawn and his frame tense for action.

"What's going on?" Prime demanded, seeing the bots standing around outside the base.

"Sunstreaker just took off screaming his axels off." Ironhide surmised, his attention going back to Sideswipe. "And we were just about to get the explanation."

"I don't know," Sideswipe said, putting his hands up in defense. "I was in the washracks when Sunny flooded our bond with…. _panic_. I don't know what caused it because he's not answering comms and our bond is closed."

The assembled bots tried to hail the wayward frontliner and just as Sideswipe said, there was no hailing the panicking golden demon.

"Whatever it was, Sunny has cut himself off from me completely," Sideswipe said, looking out toward the direction where his twin disappeared. He felt a pang of worry toward his brother. He hoped Sunstreaker hadn't snapped. Many had joked about it, but it _was_ a possibility.

"What could strike fear into Sunstreaker?' Mirage asked.

"Someone broke his mirror," Tracks snorted with a laugh.

"Hey guys, what was just happened with Sunstreaker?' Bumblebee asked joining the group. He rubbed tired optics at the gathered mechs, all of whom were openly staring at the minibot.

"I know," Bumblebee said, his voice tired as he looked to Sideswipe. "Very funny Sideswipe. You've had your laugh. Happy now?"

"I… I didn't do this.." Sideswipe stammered, optics wide. He took a couple steps back, putting distance between the Volkswagen and himself.

"Sideswipe, brig," Prowl said in a flat tone. He turned away from the minibot to find Sideswipe's wide optics still glued onto Bumblebee. Sideswipe looked ready to bolt. "Sideswipe, what's wrong?"

Everyone turned to look at the Lamborghini.

"What's wrong?' Bee asked, frowning at his own newly acquired paintjob.

The Lamborghini wasn't talking. His optics were wide, his body as tense a spring. He stared at Bumblebee with a statue's intensity.

Prowl looked between the two and the cogs started to churn. After millennia of studying Sideswipe, Prowl had learned the frontliners vast array of body language. Even when he was lying, Prowl could detect the subtle shifts that punched holes in the fabricated truth. But from the look on Sideswipe's face, there was no deception. Sideswipe may be a pranking idiot that meant good fun and innocent jocularity, but by the sheer terrified look etched in his features, he wasn't responsible for Bumblebee's new paint job. Sunstreaker's reaction could also explain Sideswipe's innocence. If Sideswipe knew what caused his brother such pure terror and panic, surely he wouldn't use such information in a prank just to get a laugh at his twin's expense. Sideswipe was fun loving but he knew his brother would beat him within an inch of his life.

Such natural reaction, and nothing forced or falsified, Prowl had a feeling he knew the culprit.

"Jazz," he called out loud while pinging the suspect.

"Yeah?" Jazz answered.

"Care to explain Bumblebee's paint job?" Prowl asked, then noted Windcharger exiting the ARK and he too was painted a new scheme. "And Windcharger?"

"Actually all of us woke up like this," Bumblebee said displaying his now white armor.

Sideswipe took another step back in answer to Bumblebee's movements, his spark pulsing so frantically Prowl's doorwings sensed it. He gave them a casual flick but the vibrations were still tingling along his sensors. His suspicions were confirmed by the sensory data now flowing unchecked along his sensitive door panels.

Sideswipe was scared out of his wits.

"What did the twins do this time?" Jazz asked, half in exasperation, half in boredom.

"Jazz, present your guilty aft. NOW!" Prowl demanded.

"Hmm… I love a commanding tone," Jazz teased, pushing away from the terminal and heading toward the entrance to the ARK. When he got there, he let out a whistle at Bee's appearance.

"Know anything about this?" Prowl asked, motioning to the two minibots

"Can't say that I do," Jazz said, giving his attention to Sideswipe and adding, "Nice one there, Sides."

"I.. I didn't…. didn't do it," Sideswipe stammered in a pitching tone. He looked ready to scream, faint, or run as quickly as his tires would allow.

"Explain Jazz, or else you spend the next month in solitary with no radio and no stereo equipment," Prowl said, turning from Sideswipe to glare at the Porsche.

"What makes you think I did this?" Jazz asked, glaring in turn. Usually at this point, Sideswipe was laughing and taking the blame, a twinkle in his optic and he served a sentence he knew was worth Prowl's weight in revenge. "Sideswipe could just as easily pull off this little stunt."

"Sideswipe signed out of his monitor duty seventeen minutes ago," Prowl said, checking the duty logs and running scenarios. "When he ran after his twin, he was dripping water, confirming the truth that he was in the washracks when this insanity started. Add to the fact that his frame is displaying genuine fear so intense I can sense the vibration in his plating, and using his past transgressions and attitude as a guide, I'm able to ascertain that he is in fact, quite terrified and is **not **responsible for this fiasco." He gave a jerk of his head toward Jazz's body. "And you have flecks of white paint on your body."

"Oh man!" Jazz muttered, looking down his plating for signs of evidence. When his normal spotless self shone back his guilty optics rose to meet Prowl's triumphant face. "It was just a joke. No one got hurt."

"Except Sunstreaker," Prowl said, his voice edged with anger. And was that _concern,_ shown for Sunstreaker's well being?

"I'll go get Sunstreaker," Sideswipe said, hoping to leave the scariness behind.

"Good luck catching him,' Jazz said, waving toward the east. "He's half way to Idaho."

"This little incident will go on your permanent record," Prowl growled lowly, stepping forward and grasping Jazz's arm. His door wings were arched high in agitation.

"What a shame," Jazz rolled his optics behind his vision. Out of spite he sent a tendril of energy along his plating. It had its desired effect.

Prowl flicked a doorwing at the sharp sting. He knew Jazz didn't like being touched or having his personal space invaded. And there was the fact that he refused to be incarcerated and escaped the brig like it was a piece of oil cake every time he was sentenced. Nevertheless, Prowl had every intention of marching the saboteur to his awaiting cell. There were a few new modifications due to Wheeljack's engineering, and if the cell didn't blow up, Jazz would be a guest for an extended period. Hopefully this little stunt would make him see reason. And give him second thoughts about sneaking out of the brig in the first place. Course, he always ended up in Prowl's quarters attempting pre-meditated murder but the outcome was always the same. Jazz learned his place, very quickly, efficiently, and sometimes with brutal force.

Not that he complained.

"I'll comm. when I can," Sideswipe said before transforming and disappearing in the same direction as his brother.

"Brig," Prowl growled, his fingers tightening their hold.

Jazz didn't even flinch. He nodded to Bumblebee and Windcharger, both were wearing identical looks of confusion.

"At least now we know what can keep the twins under control," Jazz said. Instead of trying to pull away from his capture, he stepped toward him, sending his EM field running in chaotic fluxes against Prowl's own stable field. Prowl didn't flinch. He was used to sensing Jazz's EM field.

Jazz's words sunk in and Prowl faltered, lessening his hold. He turned his optics to stare at the two minibots, Jazz's gaze following, a smirk on his lip plates.

Bumblebee and Windcharger were painted solid white with brilliant confetti-like flecks and flowers of every color imaginable decorating their bodies. Their faces were painted white as well except for the bright red haloes around their eyes and mouths. Both of their pedes were painted a ghastly, brilliant red to match their faces.

"What's so scary about clowns?" Jazz said out loud, staring at the two who he thought looked rather cute in such decoration.

"_Grease_paint," Prowl grunted, squeezing Jazz's arm to gain his attention. When Jazz turned a surprised look at him, Prowl spun him around and marched him forcibly to the brig, where Jazz remained until the end of his sentence. His cell was soon occupied by Sunstreaker, who had beaten the slag out of the Porsche immediately upon his release.

When Jazz woke up under Ratchet's tender care, he cursed the Lamborghini designation while his body was put back together with the pieces that had been recovered.

**-OOO—000—IIII-000-OOOO-IIII-0000-OOOOOO**

I'm not afraid of clowns, I just don't like them. I don't like the idea of a stranger wearing so much make up and paint that you can't give a detailed description.

Don't know if this had been done already but it hasn't been done by me until now, so…. *big grin*

Likes?

Hates?

Laughed your axels off? Would love to hear feedback!


	77. All Sides of Brotherhood

All Sides of Brotherhood

Aerialbot! That's all I'll say. :D (trying to get some other characters in every once in awhile and I recall someone mentioning they'd like to see some Aerialbot or Dinobot involvement. This was the only thing that came to mind but I'm still working on it. :D

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Sunstreaker meandered through the wooded area, heading to his favorite lookout spot. It was secluded and afforded a good vantage point for some distance. On a clear day, he could see over a hundred miles away. But those days were few and far between. Rain lingered around the mountains and during winter, the leaden sky always dumped buckets of snow. It was a strange phenomenon the mechs had come to enjoy. Well, Sunstreaker didn't like driving in it but the snow offered him a new perceptive to his worldly canvas. He had painted his first snow from the lookout, and when Sideswipe put it on display, human dignitaries had fallen in love with the mystical world captured on canvas. Now Sunstreaker enjoyed providing the worlds elite with his work, reminding him of home. He grinned to himself, thinking that no matter the planet, he impressed them all, regardless of standing. He was so good, even inferior species were in awe of him and his work and requested him as if he were one of their own.

His self stoking ego was halted when he noticed a wide silver form resting on the ledge that overlooked the sweeping vista. It didn't take the Autobot sigil upon the wings to recognize the leader of the Aerialbots, Silverbolt. He must have flown in and landed, seeing how the path to the overlook was very dense and there was no broken foliage to suggest a carrier jet had passed through.

Silverbolt gave a jolt, glancing over his wings to see Sunstreaker standing in the shadow of the trees.

"Sorry. Is this your spot?" the Aerialbot asked.

"Yes," Sunstreaker said, though there was no specific ownership to the vantage point.

"Just needed some time to think," Silverbolt said, heaving his weight off the ground.  
>"I'll let you have your peace."<p>

"You can stay," Sunstreaker said, feeling uncharacteristically generous today. Perhaps the ten piece commission he just received from a wealthy businessman was ballooning his good spirits? "I can find somewhere else."

"You can join me." Silverbolt offered with a timid smile on his face. "I know you don't socialize much and everyone says to stay away from you, but if you want to talk…" Silverbolt trailed off, his cheeks heating deep pewter.

"Are you taking over Smokescreen's job?" Sunstreaker asked.

"No, no no, nothing like that," Silverbolt said, looking uncomfortable. "It's just… Well… I don't have anyone to talk to either." He looked up, optics wide. Since the Aerialbots came online they were warned to avoid the golden menace, especially if they wished to keep their wings. It was an unwritten rule in the Autobot handbook that one didn't not approach the gilded mech unless Sideswipe was nearby. "Not that your brother isn't someone to talk to, but…"

"You babble like Bluestreak," Sunstreaker said, finding it funny that the leader of the Aerialbots would find that particular quirk to adopt.

"Sorry," Silverbolt sad, his wings drooping a little. "My brothers drive me crazy. But I can't talk to them about some things."

"But they aren't really your brothers,' Sunstreaker said, watching the range of emotion on the young Aerialbots face. Primus, were any of the Autobots ever THAT young? How far they had come… it was sad.

"They **are** my brothers,' Silverbolt said, giving Sunstreaker a strange look. "Why would you say they aren't? We were sparked at the same time and we share a gestalt bond."

"I can't imagine having to deal with so many other minds in a gestalt bond," Sunstreaker said, coming out of the trees and standing on the vista, looking across the expanse of earthen majesty. "Course **one **Sideswipe is enough."

"Is… it … true?" Silverbolt asked his voice trialing off, as if the words were vulgar.

"What?" Sunstreaker asked, finding the young mechs hesitancy to be sweet, charming. The war had been too long and the mechs had become too gruff, brash, and just plain beaten, both physically and emotionally.

"That you and Sideswipe are spark split," Silverbolt whispered, as if it was scandalous to talk about such things.

Sunstreaker found it funny the large mech was so touchy about something he considered to be common, every day news, not worthy of such secretive nature.

"Yes, we're spark split. Our spark split in two and we have a half spark. Well, when we were sparked, it was a half. But now that we are older, we've matured into fully grown, adult sparks. But our link still remains," Sunstreaker said. It was strange he found it difficult to talk to mechs he'd known for eons, but the words were coming with ease with the young Aerialbot.

"Did…did it… _hurt_?" Silverbolt asked, his optics roving over Sunstreaker's frame as if expecting to see scars from the painful separation

"It hurts when we are apart for extended periods," Sunstreaker said, finding it intriguing that the young mech was worried over something so simple as the birthing procedure for someone with a half spark.

"It is most strange," Silverbolt muttered, his brow creased, his hand rubbing the area over his spark chamber in a very similar gesture the twins adopt when one is sending signals to the other. "I can feel my brothers in my processor, but never in my spark. I feel a _warmth,_ I guess you can call it, when we are all together. When we merge into Superion, I can lose myself in their thoughts and feelings. We are individuals, yet we are together, melted into another being and in a way, we lose ourselves to the idea of 'one'."

"Scary," Sunstreaker said, not sure how to react to such information. He couldn't imagine having to share his mind with four others, then losing his own identity to their own amalgamated mass. Sideswipe was chaotic enough without having backup.

"It's hard to shut them out," Silverbolt said, his blush creeping back on his cheek plates. "I mean, its not like I don't love them and want them around, it's just sometimes I need to be by myself."

"Even bonded couples need space," Sunstreaker said. It felt weird being the older, mentoring mech instead of the brash young kid with a cocky grin and spitfire attitude.

"Did you have creators or were you sparked for war as well?" Silverbolt asked.

Sunstreaker physically jolted at the question. He had never thought of it that way. Neither twin could remember their first few vorns, their memory files underdeveloped and unable to contain set files. They both shared a sense of belonging and adoration then abandonment, hopelessness and cold. Then attachment and warmth and then they were introduced to a familiar mistress, pain and suffering.

Being bought and sold as property had turned their young sparks into something cold and by the time they were sold into the gladiatorial rings, they were long since devoid of anything positive. Only when both nearly terminated did they realize the sanctity of life. When they refused to cater to the sick whims of their masters, they were beaten into submission. When both were strong enough to fight again, they overpowered those in charge and escaped the underground Pit to take on new identities. No one was able to link their past with their lives until the twins signed on with the Autobots. As soon as their bloodthirsty optics set upon the enemy, there was no denying the cruel hand of fate and the empty desperation both felt when they engaged in battle.

"I'm sorry to ask such things," Silverbolt said in a hurry. "It's just… I have no one else to talk to. Smokescreen is nice, but he doesn't know what it's like, having brothers. And he wants to 'analyze' everything and put it in technical terms to explain it away. And sometimes, you just need to **feel** and **hear** instead of categorizing and labeling then filing it away as a _symptom_."

"I know exactly what you mean,' Sunstreaker said, having been subjected to Smokescreen on several occasions. None of them ended well. For Smokescreen.

"Yes, we were sparked to fight," Sunstreaker admitted, hoping the silver mech didn't ask for details. Sunstreaker didn't know if he could quell the sick feeling in his tank at the thought of what had transpired in his life. Lesser sparks never would have survived.

Sunstreaker never realized how much in common he had with the Aerialbots. _They_ were constructed for war and fighting. Thrown into the world where their young processors had yet to form their personalities. They were given instructions instead of a welcome to life and equal celebration.

"Does your brother drive you crazy?" Silverbolt asked.

"Oh slag yeah," Sunstreaker said, going to a boulder and sitting down on it. "He can come up with the most insane ideas and expects me to go along with them, regardless if its going to get us in trouble. In fact I'm pretty sure he looks for trouble and doesn't attempt something that isn't worth some jailtime."

"I heard the mechs talking and they said Sideswipe is the king of pranking," Silverbolt said, looking every bit the youngling. He settled down on the ground, his arms wrapping around his knees as he sat looking at Sunstreaker like a child being told stories.

"Don't let Sides hear you say that," Sunstreaker said, finding a comfortable position on his favorite perch. "I'll never hear the end of it."

"The others say he has a reputation," Silverbolt said with a half expectant grin.

"On so many things it would make your helm spin," Sunstreaker said with a laugh. "Smokescreen mentioned something about writing a thesis on the nutjob after the war."

Silverbolt made an unpleasant face at the mention of the psychologist's designation. The fact didn't go unnoticed by Sunstreaker.

"Smokescreen bothering you?" he asked.

"He has insisted on performing our…. Evaluations?" Silverbolt rolled the foreign word around his vocalizer.

"Yeah, he does that to everyone," Sunstreaker snorted. Smokescreen learned his lesson long ago. Don't try to understand the twins. "So, what did he have to say about you?"

"He likes to say…. '_co-dependant_?' Silverbolt said, giving Sunstreaker a creased frown. His youth was no clearer than the innocent expression on his face. "What does that even mean?"

"It means he thinks you can't do anything alone. That you always need your brothers," Sunstreaker supplied. He had heard the expression before and thought it slag then as well.

"But…. They are my brothers," Silverbolt said, as if that statement alone was explanation enough.

"Not according to the shrunk processor," Sunstreaker said, disdain coloring his voice.

"How does one survive without a brother?" Silverbolt asked, now looking more scared of the prospect than curious. "We are one, yet many. We are apart, yet we are together. We are a unit, brothers. Always."

"Try explaining that to someone who doesn't know what it's like," Sunstreaker huffed, his gaze turning to the horizon.

Silverbolt nodded but remained quiet, his optics taking in Sunstreaker's form as he sat on the boulder and watched the splendor of nature below.

It was getting late. The sun was sitting on the horizon, bidding the world a farewell until the morrow. He was enjoying the pleasant conversation with the golden frontliner. He honestly didn't know why the others warned him against Sunstreaker. The mech was nice, and didn't treat him as a sparkling or servant. He knew what it was like to have a brother and sometimes, upon occasion, feel the need for distance to what irritates him the most.

There was a tingling, itching sensation creeping along Silverbolt's senses, alerting him to the location ping from his four siblings.

"My brothers are looking for me," Silverbolt said, his own vents hissing in a sigh.

"Yeah, my idiot is wanting to pester me into whooping his aft," Sunstreaker said, rising off the boulder and wincing at the pops in this joints. He was starting to sound like Sparkplug when he moved.

"Thank you," Silverbolt said as he stood.

"For what?" Sunstreaker asked.

"For listening." Silverbolt gave a guilty look. "And for not judging me for my lack of brotherly love and needing some time away from what annoys me the most."

"It's understandable,' Sunstreaker said, giving a wane smile. "I would say it gets better with time, but that's a lie. They only get worse. And it doesn't help when you land on a new planet with a species that affords a whole new way of tormenting the ones you call friends."

"So I can expect more craziness from my brothers?" Silverbolt asked. The ping was becoming insistent.

"Count on it," Sunstreaker said, snickering, "And I think my brother is about to get his bolts beaten out of him by Ratchet."

"Oh, he scares me," Silverbolt admitted. He sent an answer, filling the bond now with annoyance that was quickly suppressed by the affection of the brotherhood.

"He's not so bad, once you learn how to handle him," Sunstreaker provided. He noticed Silverbolt's flighty look and added, "How about we meet here, same time next week, and I can tell you how to deal with Hatchet?"

"Really?" Silverbolt asked, his trepidation melting away with hopeful promise.

"Sure," Sunstreaker said, then his expression turned serious, dark, and foreboding. He pointed a finger at the large flyer, his voice stern. "But if anyone asks, I'm fragging you senseless."

Silverbolt offered a laugh before his face went lax, a frown forming. "What does that mean?"

"Oh frag,' Sunstreaker sighed. His mentoring job was going to be quite the undertaking. He just prayed he could handle it.

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Just something a little short and sweet. :D

Reviews would be loved and I answer the ones that leave a signed message.

*hugs to my readers*


	78. How to Install A Sunroof On A Lamborgini

**How To Install A Sunroof In A Lamborghini**

**Pre-Earth**

**I know the twins weren't Lambos while on Cybertron, but the title fit so bear with me. **

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"I'm telling you, that Praxian fragger has optics in the back of his helm!" Sideswipe griped, stalking down the hall with his twin at his side.

Both were just relieved of the medical ward, Sideswipe under strict orders not to instigate another argument with Prowl. Or else the warrior's dented aft plates would have to remain until Ratchet deemed him chastised. The threat and the pain didn't dissuade Sideswipe. He intended on showing that Praxian that wiped the floor with him, exactly what as it like to cross a Pit Fighter who wouldn't be so lenient next time.

"Slagger," Sideswipe grumbled, hobbling due to the healing nature of his damaged aft plates.

Sunstreaker walked in stride, his face quirked into a faint smile. He could feel the pain bleeding through the bond but it was easily blocked. Sideswipe's pride was hurt more than his aft. But if Sunstreaker admitted, seeing his brother go flying over Prowl's form only to have the Praxian somehow gain the upper hand and have the red warrior on hands and knees before planting his pede on the tempting aft, Sunstreaker couldn't stop replaying the mental movie. It was very entertaining.

"We need to get that fragger," Sideswipe said, fist curling at his words.

Sunstreaker ambled along, lost in his own recollections and making sure to keep his end of the bond clamped shut, lest Sideswipe try to throttle him in his charge for sensing his amusement.

"Are you with me?" Sideswipe asked, turning an expectant optic to his twin.

Sunstreaker kept that smirk on his lip plates as he gave a curt nod, agreeing with his brother out of habit.

The next day Sideswipe hid in a supply closet, and sent out a comms to the SIC. He waited for his Praxian prey to fall into his clever trap.

Prowl was privy to the prank and sent an unsuspecting Ironhide to the supply closet, where Sideswipe jumped out and earned a mighty punch in the face plates. As he reeled in pain and shock, he was grabbed and thrown against the bulkhead, landing on a bent leg and twisting it at an odd angle. He staggered to the medical ward, Ironhide berating him with every step and Prowl greeting the two at the med bay doors.

"Problem?" Prowl asked, his face set in a passive expression. On the inside he was laughing his doorwings off.

"Just a minor misunderstanding," Ironhide said, hoping to cover his blunder of beating up a subordinate.

Prowl didn't seem to mind. He gave a nod, a ghost of smirk on his face, before leaving the fuming warrior to the clutches of the resident medical psycho.

Sideswipe hobbled back to his quarters later that evening, his busted leg keeping him immobile and off the duty rooster for the next two weeks. When he planted himself heavily on his berth, he winced, lifting his leg into a relaxed position and sent his brother an irate ping. Sunstreaker answered, not bothering to look up from the datapad he was currently examining as part of his maintenance detail. His work soon became forgotten as he relived the events of Sideswipe's most recent encounter. When the bond flooded with pain from Ratchet's delicate beating, Sunstreaker's optics narrowed.

"Fragger thought it was funny," Sideswipe said, wincing when his leg made a sickening grind when he tried to move it.

"I heard there are a dozen more Praxians that joined our base,' Sunstreaker put in, finding the scene to be hilarious though he didn't want to add to his brother's torment. At least not yet.

"Great. All I need," Sideswipe said dramatically, throwing his arm over his optics and falling back onto the berth in defeat. "More of the slaggers running around."

"Praxus has fallen," Sunstreaker said, knowing his twin wasn't privy to the info due to his medical incarceration. At the mention of the notorious city, Sideswipe perked up, his arm falling away as he turned his helm toward his brother.

"You serious or just wishing out loud?" Sideswipe asked. It was hard to tell with his brother. Sometimes Sunstreaker was speaking the truth. Other times he was speaking what was on his mind and they normally weren't bright, happy thoughts.

"I heard about it at the end of shift," Sunstreaker said.

"Well, they better stay out of my way," Sideswipe said with dark intent. "I'm going to get that fragger if it's the last thing I do!"

Sunstreaker nodded in ascent, knowing there was a high probability that Sideswipe was plotting his doom. Sunstreaker went back to his menial task of overseeing the datapad contents, a part of him was wondering what it would be like to be an only child.

Sideswipe couldn't stay idle for long. On the third day of his 'rehabilitation,' he was found instigating a makeshift race with a couple of heavy transport mechs. Ratchet dragged him by the scruff bar to the medical ward and induced a stasis lock, ensuring the warrior stayed off his busted leg.

Sunstreaker enjoyed the peace and quiet. It was sad, knowing that it wasn't going to last.

And sure enough, as soon as Sideswipe regained consciousness with a completely healed body, the twins were called to the front lines, where Sideswipe destroyed his shocks thanks to a careening jet. Sunstreaker had endured having his beautiful paint blistered along his chassis from a missile that got a little _too_ friendly with him. But when Ratchet finally excused them for rehabilitation in their own quarters, both were happy to oblige.

Sideswipe hobbled due to the newly installed shocks. His systems were having difficulty in integrating the new parts.

Sunstreaker was holding his servos over his chest like a bashful femme, hiding the fact that his usual immaculate golden paint was peeled and blistered, the primer showing through in a large patch dead center to his chest. The missile had erased his Autobot sigil. Now Sunstreaker was looking forward to reapplying his paint to his precise and immaculate condition before venturing from his quarters. No mech should see him like this.

Just as the two rounded the corner, Sunstreaker lost in thought and Sideswipe concocting the next brilliant plan to get his nemesis, both skidded to a halt. Sideswipe grabbed his twin and pulled him back to the shelter of the corner. Both peered with wide optics at the black and white doorwinged mech standing near the other end of the hall.

The Praxian stood outside of the door to the armory, his black paneled door wings arched high and fluttering in gentle bobs. His hands rested on his hips as he stared at the door as if expecting it to open at his verbal command.

"Prowl sure looks annoyed," Sideswipe said from the distance where the twins were watching.

"I thought he was just black and white," Sunstreaker said with a narrowed optic. The frame seemed different to him. Sunstreaker's artistic optic caught the subtleties. "That's not Prowl."

"Sure it is," Sideswipe said, grabbing his brother and pulling him away from the corner. The mech in their crosshairs slipped from view as they retreated. "He's doing his wings a little different but it's still him. I know his build."

"So do I and I'm telling you, that is **not** Prowl," Sunstreaker said, running a visual comparison in his processor.

"He can't hide from me," Sideswipe said, narrowing his optics toward the corner where his biggest enemy stood unaware.

"Different colored chevron, longer, tapered fingers, accents of purple along the torso and he holds his wings different," Sunstreaker said, mentally ticking through the differences.

Sideswipe made an obscene noise, waving his servo at his twin.

"He's just redone his paint job and wants us to believe he's one of the new Praxians that just arrived so he can thwart my plans," Sideswipe said with a knowing expression.

Sunstreaker frowned, still evaluating the mech he saw standing in the corridor outside of the armory. It was odd that the mech was standing there. He seemed nervous and unsure. Definitely not Prowl's demeanor.

"What about Prowl's sigils?" Sunstreaker asked. The usual adornments on Prowl's body were missing from the other black and white mech outside of the armory.

Sideswipe waved his hand again, thinking his brother was just nitpicking, as usual. "He's painted over them. Trust me, that's Prowl. He just wants us to believe he's a new recruit.''

"I don't know…" Sunstreaker said in a slow drawl. Something was gnawing at his circuits. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was something really important.

"You know I'm right," Sideswipe said, crossing his arms and giving his brother a glare that meant the golden mech should be supporting his brother in every way. "If we think he's new, we'll take him into our confidence. Then when we tell him of a prank we wish to pull on Prowl, the slagger will know about it and can throw us in the brig."

"_We_?" Sunstreaker asked, giving his twin a death glare. "What do you mean, 'we'?"

"You're in this with me," Sideswipe said, pointing a finger at the chest plate that lacked its usual golden hue. "Whether or not you help me, I'll tell Prowl you helped me plan it and you'll get punished too."

"How is that fair?" Sunstreaker snarled, his fist curling at his side and ready to strike.

"Life isn't fair," Sideswipe singsonged, quirking that irritating look at his brother.

"So no matter if I'm innocent, I'm going to be punished for whatever idiotic prank you pull?" Sunstreaker asked, taking a threatening step toward Sideswipe.

"That's what Prowl deems as logical," Sideswipe said, throwing the hated word in the conversation.

Sunstreaker scowled. Every time he or his twin proclaimed a strategy or alternative to a retreat, Prowl always shot down the twins' suggestions. His favorite phrase involved a lot of 'logic.' And a lot of angry stares from two irate front line warriors. Why Prowl never took their personal experience into consideration, they never knew. But he loved to shoot down their ideas, claiming it wasn't the _logical_ thing to do and that they had no clue as to the progression of battle and strategic defense.

Those little slights against their abilities are what started the whole "Get Prowl" campaign. The twins, mainly Sideswipe, felt the tactical officer needed a lesson in how to operate with loose cannons. One couldn't plan for everything, so ergo, all things could be considered when in the thick of battle. Why Prowl had yet to learn this lesson was a mystery.

"You're too blatant in your approach,' Sunstreaker chastised.

"Oh, and you think another way would be better?" Sideswipe asked, peeking around the corner to monitor his target.

"Nothing wrong with stealth and subtlety," Sunstreaker amended. Both twins could move as silently as Prowl, though the Praxian could always detect their mischievous intent. They took his aptitude as a personal insult.

"Prove it," Sideswipe said, nudging his twin with his shoulder.

"I don't have to prove anything to you." Sunstreaker countered, feeling that sensation filter over the bond that meant Sideswipe was itching for a good prank. It wouldn't go away until he was satisfied.

"I say you do." Sideswipe tittered, giving his twin a smug look when he felt the mental scratching at his mind. He knew Sunstreaker was getting annoyed. And the sure fire thing to get him worked up, was to tell him he couldn't do something.

Oh, this was going to be good!

"Well, you're an idiot," Sunstreaker said, his hand rubbing his chassis to quell the feeling. It didn't work.

"But I get the job done," Sideswipe goaded. "I can pull a prank and scare anyone. Even got _Prime_ a few times."

"Jumping out and screaming for a Con attack while the mech is half terminated from exhaustion is NOT a way to entertain yourself." Sunstreaker groused. He had endured scrubbing the washracks for quite some time after that little incident, Apparently when Prime was undercharged and underfueled, his humor was lacking. Prowl's too for that matter. And Ironhide. And Ratchet. It was a nasty cascading effect that made the twins miserable for some time, despite Sideswipe laughing about the menial duty and grumblings of innocence from his brother.

"Now's your chance," Sideswipe said, jerking his helm toward the corridor where Prowl frowned at the door, trying a new access code.

"Why would I attempt such a thing?" Sunstreaker asked, sending hatred to his twin. It was absorbed and reflected with a gooey, sweet sensation of love. Sunstreaker resisted the urge to gag.

"If you surprise Prowler," Sideswipe said. "And you can get him to make a sound louder than a stern lecture, I'll give you what ever you want, no questions asked."

"Anything?" Sunstreaker asked, now intrigued. Some private time would be nice. His brother tried his patient circuits and it had been far too long since Sunstreaker had any true peace, quiet, and relaxation. The offer was tempting.

Sideswipe held back the urge to grin, feeling his brother's attitude change. One just had to know how to handle the sociopathic artist.

"Fine," Sunstreaker said, rising to the bait. "If I can get him to raise his voice or make any type of facial expression other than boring blandness, I want our quarters for a month!"

"A month?" Sideswipe said, looking perplexed.

"You can charge only, but during waking hours you avoid our quarters and leave me out of your pranks and give me some peace and solitude." Sunstreaker laid down the ground rules for their little wager.

"Fine" Sideswipe grumbled, knowing he'd be inching his way through the door and his brother would be none the wiser. Sunstreaker was a very focused mech when it came to perusing his artistic endeavors or immersing himself in music. He became a completely different person when left unmolested by his brother.

Sideswipe peered around the edge of the corridor, noting the disguised Prowl was fumbling with the lock on the wall. With a beep the lock gave and the mech gave a happy exclamation and stepped inside.

"He's distracted, come on," Sideswipe said.

Sunstreaker gave a nod to their agreement and stepped around the corner. His pedes made no sound as he ventured down the hall, Sideswipe sneaking along as a brilliant red shadow. When the two were outside the door, they heard muttered words and the sounds of metal clanging. Apparently Prowl was looking for something and not finding anything to suit his needs.

Sunstreaker looked over his shoulder to see Sideswipe give him the positive go ahead on his scheme. Both missed the sound of clattering weapons and the high pitched whine of a new battery cell fitting into place on a rifle. Sunstreaker counted off, his optics locked onto his brothers. When he reached three he jumped into the open doorway, bellowing like an enraged animal.

A satisfying shriek pierced both brother's audios before the sound of a blast echoed in a cacophony in the room and out into the hall.

Sunstreaker's arms dropped to his sides, his expression going from wild maniac to stunned confusion. A curl of smoke issued from his chassis, dead center in his chest. He looked to the wide optics of the Praxian, who he was positive now was NOT Prowl in disguise, and fell in slow motion to his knees.

"Oh Primus! I'm sorry! I was getting a new battery cell because my other one lost its charge because I used it during the last battle and took out forty seven Decepticons and you know these things don't have a high charge to begin with so I was really lucky to get as many shots off as I did, and thank Primus, they were all kills, not that Prime is happy about it but I mean, we didn't suffer so many losses but I still shouldn't have put my finger on the trigger because we're on base and its safe and there's friends and no reason to keep your guard up and because its not like anyone's going to attack." The mech rambled.

Sunstreaker felt a wave of cold steal over his frame, his spark stuttering. This was definitely **NOT** Prowl.

"Sunny!" Sideswipe yelled, kneeling down beside his twin and looking at the hole blown in his brothers chest. The shot went straight through the middle. Had Sunstreaker been his usual immaculate self, it would have removed the Autobot sigil from the golden chassis. Sideswipe opened a comm. to Ratchet as he started into the unwavering gaze of his twin. **'Ratchet! Sunny's been shot! We're on our way!'**

'**You slagging idiots! I just released you!'** Ratchet yelled over comms. "**How did you get injured by walking back to your quarters?!'**

Sunstreaker opened his mouth to speak but only static came out. He struggled to form words, but could only manage a weak beep. His gaze locked onto his brothers, his spark speaking louder than words. The pain was crawling along his plating now that the initial shock started to wear off. Sideswipe gave a clipped nod and in one fluid motion, scooped his twin into his arms and started running to med bay. His gait was uneven and rough, his shocks still not integrated enough to ease his pedefalls. The mech who had shot Sunstreaker followed along, still babbling though neither twin paid him any heed.

When the twins burst into the medical ward it was to find the resident demon in full ranting, protective mode.

"Place him on the stabilizing berth and get the slag out of my way!" Ratchet snapped, pushing a cart over that held diagnostic machines. If Sunstreaker's spark decided to sputter, Ratchet wanted to be ready.

Sideswipe stepped away form his twin and assumed his role as observer on the wall but the Prowl wannabe went to Sunstreaker's berth side and grasp his limp servo.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking into Sunstreaker's dim optics. "I didn't mean to shoot you. Please, don't hate me. It was an accident. I promise I won't do it again. I just…"

"Bluestreak, get back!" Ratchet snapped, making the Praxian falter in his monologue and shrink back from the rebuke.

"Bluestreak?" Sideswipe said, sounding like a question. The designation was correct as the Praxian looked to him in response, his face twisted in misery. Sideswipe placed his arm around the drooping shoulders, his gaze going to his twin and the wide open hole he could stick his fist through. "Sunny will be okay. Ratchet's the best."

"Slagging morons," Ratchet groused, connecting leads and preparing Sunstreaker's frame for a shut down to repair and replace the damaged circuits. Thankfully Bluestreak's shot had only grazed the main fuel line, but didn't rupture it completely. Nor breached Sunstreaker's spark chamber. Both were a minor blessing.

Sunstreaker felt his systems start to shut down, Ratchet's presence thundering and virulent in his consciousness. He looked to his brother, static spitting out of his vocalizer before he was able to force words through his lips.

"I hate you," Sunstreaker said before his optics dimmed and Ratchet threatened to dismantle to the two hovering bots if they didn't allow him space to work.

When Sunstreaker woke from his extensive surgery, it was to find the Praxian seated beside his berth. His plating was now painted grey, red accents glittering in nice contrast. He was reading a datapad, his doorwings fluttering with emotion as he read. He glanced over with bright, sapphire optics, his face lighting up in relief.

"You're awake!" Bluestreak said, putting his datapad in subspace. "I'm so glad. Ratchet said you could be out for another few cycles, but I was hoping you'd wake up while I was here."

Sunstreaker groaned, cutting off any verbal commentary. He looked to the other side of his berth and found the spot vacant.

"Where's Sideswipe?" he asked, his body sore and aching all over. It was usual for the other twin to be seated close by when the other was under Ratchet's tender mercies.

"Brig," Bluestreak explained. "Prowl threw him in there when he realized I shot you by accident and Sideswipe had admitted to setting you up to scare me, thinking I was Prowl which was a fair assumption as we both have the same build, though his doorwings are much more eloquent than mine and…"

"Bluestreak?" Sunstreaker said, remembering the mechs name as he was drifting into stasis before his surgery. "Stop talking."

"Sorry." Bluestreak said with a duck of helm. "I can't help it."

Sunstreaker looked around the medical ward and found them to be alone. Apparently there was no incursions during his emergency medical procedures. He checked his chronometer and realized it was very late, going into fourth shift. The ward was powdered down to a lower setting, the only light available at Sunstreaker's medical berth.

"Why are you here?" Sunstreaker asked, wondering why the strange Praxian was keeping vigil.

"Well…. I shot you," Bluestreak said, his cheek plates heating to an uncomfortable level. "I didn't think you should be alone."

Sunstreaker graced the blushing mech with a half smile, silently thankful his vocalizer didn't prattle on with a long winded explanation.

"How long have you been here" Sunstreaker asked, noting there was a an empty cube on the stand behind Bluestreak's chair.

"Any time when I'm off duty," Bluestreak said, adverting his gaze. He had heard of Sunstreaker's temper and was waiting for the fires of the Pit to be unleashed upon his helm. It was the least he could endure for nearly ending the golden mech's life. "With Sideswipe in the brig, there would be no one here to watch over you and since it was me who put you in danger, it should be me who watched over you until you recover."

Sunstreaker stared at the strange mech, trying to gauge his intent. Most did things seeking favors. Everyone did something for a reason. But Bluestreak's timid, naive nature showed no untoward intent or ulterior motive. He was genuinely worried about Sunstreaker.

"You don't have to stay," Sunstreaker said, suddenly feeling self conscious around the mech who felt obligated to watch over him while he recovered. It was an unnerving sensation.

"Oh, but I want to," Bluestreak said, looking to Sunstreaker and blushing. "I mean….I don't mind. It's my fault you're in here so its the least I could do."

"It's my brother's fault," Sunstreaker said. "Had he not wanted to get Prowl so badly, he wouldn't have set me up."

"He was really upset," Bluestreak said. "Please, don't be mad at him. He just wanted to play a joke. He didn't mean for you to get hurt."'

Sunstreaker gave Bluestreak an incredulous look. The Praxian was younger than Sunstreaker thought. If he didn't understand how Sideswipe operated, he was going to get quite the education.

"He's not going to be happy until he can get Prowl," Sunstreaker sighed, wanting so badly to move but his body was still heavily sedated.

"Get him what?" Bluestreak asked, his innocent face alight with curiosity.

"Primus, you're young," Sunstreaker said, feeling like he was talking to a sparkling.

"Just upgraded," Bluestreak said, his expression dropping from charming innocence to devastation. "A couple of joors before the Decepticons attacked."

Not knowing what to do, or how to soothe a shattered spark, Sunstreaker redirected the conversation away from the emotional stuff.

"I meant, Sideswipe wants to get Prowl in a prank," Sunstreaker said, hoping to see the pain of war erased from the naïve Praxian. It didn't seem right for one so young to carry such a burden.

"Why?" Bluestreak asked, the horrors of war slowing ebbing from his face.

"My brother is an idiot," Sunstreaker confided in his new friend. "He thinks everyone should have a laugh, especially at their own expense."

"That's horrible," Bluestreak said, now looking distraught. Would he be a victim of Sideswipe's humor?

"That's Sideswipe," Sunstreaker added, shaking his head. "He believes it's his mission to make everyone laugh, even if they can't see the humor in his jokes."

"And he believes he can sneak up Prowl?" Bluestreak asked, his lip plates quirking slightly with the hint of a grin.

Sunstreaker caught the distant twinkle that fought to come back to the young mech. "Yes. Why?"

Bluestreak snickered, that light fanning to life in his optics and making him return to innocence. "Praxians have sensors in their doorwings. We can sense everything around us, from currents, electrical discharge, spatial displacement, and the more attuned mechs can even sense a spark beat."

Sunstreaker's expression was priceless.

"There's no way to sneak up on a Praxian," Bluestreak said with a true, genuine smile that reached his optics. "We can sense you coming before you're close enough to get the jump on us."

"Well, that's going to make it more difficult," Sunstreaker groused, a frown marring his handsome features.

"Difficult?" Bluestreak asked.

"When I get out of here I'm going to murder my twin and I have every intention of burying him with a certain Praxian," Sunstreaker growled.

Bluestreak's face flashed with anguish but he pushed away his emotions, centering on the thing that confused him.

"Twin?" Bluestreak asked. He had never heard the term. He briefly wondered if it was a rare affliction, his body tensing as he started to calculate the chances on it being contagious.

Sunstreaker narrowed his optics, unsure what he should divulge. So far only the main command crew knew of the twin's unique physiology, their spark signatures dampened thanks to well learned lessons. If they didn't want you to know they were near, neither twin openly broadcasted their signal. Those who didn't know of their abnormal lives just thought they worked for Special Ops, practicing their stealth maneuvers out of habit.

"Our spark split into two," Sunstreaker said, gauging Bluestreak's reaction. "We are two beings with half sparks."

"Not possible," Bluestreak said, giving Sunstreaker a look that meant he thought the golden mech was pulling his plugs.

Sunstreaker lowered the dampening field and watched as Bluestreak's optics went wide, his door wings flaring out, the appendages humming with sensory input. They were sensing the spark anomaly lying before them.

"Primus,' Bluestreak whispered, his doorwings vibrating with the intensity of his focus. He looked like he was being electrocuted. "How can you function?"

"Apparently we beat the odds," Sunstreaker said, wanting to shrug but finding his body sluggish. "Which works to our advantage on the front lines." When Bluestreak's face turned anxious and stricken, Sunstreaker frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I could have terminated both of you!" Bluestreak's voice was barely a squeak. His optics was creased in blame and worry.

"You could have killed anyone!" Sunstreaker said, not seeing what had the young mech so terrified. Yes, he had shot Sunstreaker. Yes, it could have terminated him. But it truth, it could have happened to anyone. Sunstreaker was just the idiotic fool who listened to his brother and startled the skittish mech when he was dealing with a firearm. It wasn't a smart combination. Sunstreaker should know better. So shouldn't Sideswipe. Neither was educated.

"I meant, if I terminated you, then if you're half a spark, then doesn't that mean that Sideswipe would be terminated as well?"

"Didn't think of it that way." Sunstreaker muttered. Another facet of their lacking education.

"Oh, I couldn't bear it if I terminated you two," Bluestreak said, looking to be on the verge of tears.

The mech was seriously distraught and obviously young to so willingly display such emotions. He seemed more like an overgrown youngling instead of an upgraded adult. Sunstreaker felt the need to consol the trembling mech, his optics remaining transfixed by the fluttering doorwings. He never realized how captivating they were. And expressive. Did Prowl display his emotions with the bobs and sways of his doorwings? Sunstreaker never noticed. He most certainly would pay attention from now on.

"We are shot at every day," Sunstreaker said, hoping to quell Bluestreak's distress. "We're front liners. We expect the laser fire."

"Not from your own side," Bluestreak said, miserably. His doorwings slumped in defeat.

"It could have happened to anyone," Sunstreaker said, hoping to bolster to wretched mech. He looked so forlorn that Sunstreaker was feeling sorry for him. And he didn't like feeling that! That was Sideswipe's forte. "Just, promise me you'll be more careful in the future."

Bluestreak gave a forced smile. "I promise to Primus."

"It really could have happened to anyone," Sunstreaker repeated, hoping the information was sinking in. Sunstreaker couldn't stop the quick inspection of the mech's frame, noting the lack of dents, scratches, dings, and other injuries sustained out on the battlefield. Out of some curiosity he couldn't explain, he asked, "What is your specialty, so I know what to avoid?"

If Bluestreak drove a specialty vehicle, Sunstreaker wanted to make sure he was on the other side of the battlefield.

Bluestreak offered sheepish look, his doorwings dipping in gentle bobs. "Umm, I'm a sniper."

Sunstreaker felt as if Primus just sat on him. He closed his optics and sighed heavily through his vents. "Figures." His optics cracked just a fraction, looking into Bluestreak's anxious face before adding, "We'll be terminated before the Cons even reach us!"

Bluestreak looked thunderstruck, then upon noticing Sunstreaker's quirked lip plates, he allowed a soft chuckle to escape. His cheek plates darkened with embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his neck, breaking optic contact with the golden front liner. Feeling elated at the sense of ease, Bluestreak smirked, gracing Sunstreaker's inert body with a wicked grin.

"Well, your paint scheme attracts a lot of attention."

Sunstreaker drew up, stunned at the young mech's naïve face, grinning like a youngling who just found the goodie stash.

"Guess I'll have to keep an optic out for you. Just to make sure you make it back to base in one piece."

"_Two_ pieces." Sunstreaker corrected.

Bluestreak nodded in agreement, remembering he would have to also be on the look out for the flame red front liner who was still incarcerated. They were, after all, a matched pair and it would be terrible to break up the set.

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**Reviews are loved and just make the muse go all tingling in her happy place. ;)**


	79. Can't Swipe This

**Can't Swipe This**

AN: work with me. Titles aren't easy. :P

Dont know if this has been done, so... here goes! *snickering*

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Sideswipe shifted the lopsided decoration in his arms, swinging its bulk around and slipping his arms through the holes. With some maneuvering he was able to get it positioned on his back, his jet pack having been disengaged by his brother and now lay in Wheeljack's lab for an upgrade that may or may not explode when activated.

Sideswipe didn't care. He'd been blown up before by Wheeljack. Its not like it would be the first time he got his aft plates blistered.

After the fourth aft blistering, he learned a valuable lesson. Now, he always made sure to add padding and a blast shield between his body and the jet pack after Wheeljack had 'twiddled' with it. But now, his back was free and clear and just _screaming_ for the new ornamentation.

So Sideswipe had raided his multiple hiding places on the ship, sent some codes via secured comms and had some 'pick ups' made the last time Cosmo went to Cybertron. The mech was easy to bribe. Pictures of the Hubble telescope made his interstellar drive kick on. All Sideswipe had to do was get Sunstreaker's cooperation in drawing the telescope into feminine, risqué poses and the green UFO would haul just about anything.

As it was, Sideswipe had a rather extensive collection of assorted prank related materials, including the contraption now fitting on his back. Finding the straps to be loose he tied them tighter and wiggled his body. When they held tight, he admired his reflection, and felt his own engine rev. Just to be ornery, he sent a mental image to his twin and earned an artist optic and full support if Sideswipe wished the new modifications were made permanent.

Sideswipe frowned and sent his brother a pang of annoyance, which Sunstreaker ignored and flooded the bond with lust, making Sideswipe lean against the mirror and fight for control over his rapidly heating circuits.

His brother was such a pit spawned slagger.

Trying to get each other overheated, and possibly to overload, had been a battle since they were sparked. It took some time to learn the perimeters of their bond, but once it was figured out, they abused it endlessly.

The first game they invented just happened to be how turned on they could get the other while no one else realized. They were pretty evenly matched, Sunstreaker holding a two overload over his brother and trying for a third. Though with Sideswipe being off duty and in their quarters, it wouldn't count.

But it was good practice.

Sideswipe shut down bond completely, feeling his brother's consciousness search for him like a person wandering in the dark. The twins liked to play these little games, but Sunstreaker had a thing for being alone. He couldn't handle the darkness and solitude. He always had to feel Sideswipe's presence. Taking pity, Sideswipe reestablished a connection, feeling a sense of relief that was quickly smothered. Sunstreaker's consciousness fell away as he controlled his worry, leaving his brother to his obvious prank. Sideswipe stood in front of his brother's full length mirror admiring his additions.

There were a few black pin-stripes added along his legs and arms, courtesy of his brother before his shift early this morning. Sideswipe had the day off and he was going to use it enjoying himself, which meant, he was going to prank someone.

And by the motion behind him, it was a _specific_ someone. The little art project turned out better than he thought and with a nod of triumph he exited his quarters.

Several bots passed in the hall, eyeing Sideswipe, who walked with a sway, his face drawn into a cheeky look that had the others giggling and shaking their head at his antics. They had a feeling what he was up to. It didn't surprise them, and comms went out to Sunstreaker, asking for video footage for later purchase.

Sideswipe entered the command center, grateful that there were no humans this day. It was fun to scare them but he always had to worry about stepping on one. It was nice to move about like normal and not have to watch his step. He sauntered into the room, seeing his twin sitting at the main monitor, Bluestreak sharing data from a datapad, the two talking in quiet tones.

Ratchet was talking to Jazz. Both froze, staring slack jawed at Sideswipe as he walked in and went to Prowl, who was stationed at a main control hub. Prowl's attention was on his datapad as he typed in codes between the small device and the main consol. His optics darted between the two with practiced ease.

A glimmer of ruby sparkled in his peripheral vision and knowing who it was before confirmation, Prowl exhaled a heavy gust and looked up.

And gasped in astonishment.

Sideswipe had opted for black pin-striping that was synonymous with elegant frames. And though the straps around his chassis were a distraction, ruining the pleasing aesthetics of the look, what they held into place was what captured the Praxian's attention. In fact, Red Alert, Inferno, and Ironhide just entered the command hub and were staring with the same dumbfounded expression.

Wide, ruby and black doorwings sprouted from Sideswipe's back, the wings fluttering a little with his movements. He gave a sultry look, leaning against the consol and cocking his hip, striking a seductive pose.

"Come here often, big boy?" Sideswipe asked in a smooth, even tone.

"Wha… what are you doing?" Prowl asked, finding the ensemble to be not unappealing. Too bad it was attached to a trouble making mech.

"I got them for you," Sideswipe said, waggling his brow plating at Prowl and sinking lower into the sultry pose. He was almost draped over the main consol. "I've been thinking about you and wanted to show you how much I missed you."

Prowl schooled his features, knowing that Sideswipe was playing one of his jokes again. Snickers broke out among the ranks steeling Prowl's resolve. He gave a heavy sigh through his vents, staring at the Lamborghini seductress who gave him a purr, manually flicking a door wing in a playful manner.

Prowl's optic ridge arched in slow motion. "Sideswipe, how may hits to the helm have you taken lately?"

"Not enough to distract me from your charm." Sideswipe grinned, his fingers tracing over the edge of a sweeping doorwing. He smiled to himself when he noted Prowl's undivided attention on the digit.

"Whatever you are trying to distract me from, it will not work," Prowl said, snapping out of his stupor and adopting a neutral expression he knew annoyed Sideswipe.

"But I made this…" Sideswipe said in a hurt filled tone. "Just… for…. you."

"Prowl, do you have the…" Prime asked as he entered the command hub. His sentenced died off, seeing Sideswipe wearing doorwings and draping himself over the consol in front of Prowl. "Uhhh…. what is Sideswipe… _doing_?"

"Trying to seduce me, sir," Prowl said without batting an optic.

"Oh.' Prime said half stunned. He waved his servo and turned, calling over his shoulder, "Carry on then."

"You reject me, my love?" Sideswipe asked, his face cracking into a grin.

Prowl reached out and grabbed Sideswipe by the olfactory sensor, pulling him away from the consol.

"If your stupidity has erased my work, I will remove your door wings and weld them to your aft and skip your aft plates over the sharpest peaks of the mountain range."

Sideswipe stood flabbergasted. Had be been a real Praxian, his door wings would have drooped in disappointment. As it was, they fluttered like a butterfly on a petal.

No one noticed Sunstreaker give Bluestreak a barely perceivable nod, nor the gunner answering with a wink to the golden mech, before Bluestreak handed Sunstreaker his datapad and threw his arms wide open.

"Baby!" Bluestreak crooned, face alight in happiness. "Where have you been all my life?"

'What?!" Sideswipe snapped, angry that the wrong Praxian was playing along.

"OH sweet spark, lets make sparklings together!" Bluestreak cried out, running toward Sideswipe.

Bluestreak's motion was all that Sideswipe needed to squawk and go running out of the command center, Bluestreak hot on his tailpipes and spouting a mixture of love ballads, sonnets, and poetry.

"Think that slagger ever learns?' Ironhide asked.

Jazz gave a shrug. "He definitely keeps it interesting."

"I would like to know where he gets the parts for the pranks," Ratchet said, having ran a scan over the decorations and found them to be within acceptable perimeters as replacements in case a Praxian suffers injury. There was a chance, if Sideswipe survived, that Ratchet would be using him as a parts resource. He pinged Bluestreak with the instruction that if the doorwings parted company with Sideswipe, Ratchet would put them in the Praxian inventory.

An answering beep of affirmation came over the line as Sideswipe raced through the halls, hooting like a barn owl while Bluestreak continued his melody of sappy endearments.

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Yes, gotta get little Blue in there again. There's a couple more ideas that I have percolating (thank you Liz) and hopefully after that, I can get back to finishing up these last requests. I still have about…5-7…. Left. *sighs* I love you guys, really, and I'm just ashamed of myself for taking this long to get out your requests. Sometimes the muse cooperates, most the time, she doesn't. I try to beat her accordingly.


	80. Yellow Streak Down the Back

Yellow Streak Down the Back

AN: I almost wasn't able to get this one out on time! Thankfully, everything worked out. Reviews have been fantastic and really appreciated. I answer the ones that are signed in, so check your inboxes.

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Jazz stalked down the hall, his pedefalls ringing a funeral dirge. To say he was pissed was an understatement. He was passed pissed. He was fuming, raging, spark stopping extinguishing _**furious**_! He turned the corner, nearly bumping into Mirage, who gave his commanding officer a raised brow ridge but no spoken word.

"Don't ask!" Jazz snapped, continuing to trek down the hall toward the wash racks.

Mirage waited until the black and white officer disappeared before snickering, sending the captured holo-image to every Autobot on base. The laughter started out as a distant whisper that escalated into a booming, rolling thunder of hilarity. Jazz glared up at the security feed, knowing that Red Alert was probably recording the Saboteur as well. Maybe after Jazz had some time to think if over and let his metaphorical wounds heal, he'd have a good laugh as well. Later. Right now, he was furious.

'**Jazz to Ratchet.'**

"**Yes, Milady?'**

Jazz ignored the jibe, his fists clenching as he growled, entering the washracks. **'Meet me in the washracks and bring the most powerful solvent you possess.'**

'**Will do,'** Ratchet said, a little too happy to be healthy. Jazz was thankful no one was in the washracks and turned on the spray, letting it hit his 'additions'. The water felt good along his burning plating, but the dulled sensations along his new additions were causing his sensors to fire off abnormal readings. The input data was already giving him a processor ache.

It had all started when Jazz needed Sideswipe's help in pranking Prowl. Well, the prank had been half hearted, Jazz only wanting to get the tactician's attention away from a datapad long enough so he wouldn't crash or work himself into oblivion. It was Ratchet's orders that Prowl took regularly schedule breaks, but he rarely kept to his own self appointed schedule. So Ratchet had enlisted Jazz to help the tactician remember his required 'down time'. Jazz only wanted to make Prowl drowsy, but whatever Sideswipe had added, made the Praxian pass out cold. Jazz also passed out. Though he had been given the 'remedy' by a self assured Sideswipe.

'_Some remedy,'_ Jazz thought, waiting for Ratchet to show up and assist him.

When Jazz woke up, it was find a very elegant, graceful, and rather _feminine_ set of Praxian doorwings glued to his back. They were arched forward, haloing his shoulders and angled in a typical display of Praxian courtship. To add insult to injury, Sideswipe had also glued on some 'feminine' pieces. Where he got them was a mystery, but Jazz was now a somewhat lopsided, yet fully displayed female Praxian showing all the ritual signs of attracting a mate and being susceptible to 'amorous inclinations.'

Ratchet entered the washracks in time to see Jazz grab a doorwing with every intention of yanking it from his person, but Ratchet intervened. 

"You rip your plating and I'll blister it!" Ratchet snarled, jerking the saboteur's hand away from the glued panel. "If I know Sideswipe, he didn't use the gentle glue and if you go yanking on those beautiful door wings, it will make your plating separate from your back."

"That slagger!" Jazz snapped, holding still and allowing Ratchet to check the immaculate job of 'gender reassignment'. "He'll pay for this."

"He did a phenomenal job with getting the glue in the proper place to ensure cohesion," Ratchet muttered, examining the mech turned Praxian femme. "And if I'm not mistaken, he's applied a sealing layer as well to ensure durability."

"What was he thinking?" Jazz griped, wincing as Ratchet pulled on the panel and the plating did in fact threaten to dislodge. OH, it was on there, but good!

"You said you wanted to **distract **Prowl," Ratchet said absent mindedly, pulling out the solvent and putting a few drops along the seams. "You know him. He's an idiot. Takes things the wrong way. It's like talking to a sparkling."

"He'll pay for this," Jazz promised.

"Well, you'll just have to wait until I can get your courtship display put away," Ratchet said with a grin "If any of the Praxians see it, they may get the wrong idea."

"Yeah, Blue already found out," Jazz said, his cheek plates heating.

"Oh?" Ratchet asked, wondering what could have transpired. "I hope you let him down easy."

"I didn't know Praxians take this display stuff so seriously," Jazz admitted.

"It's how they chose mates," Ratchet said with an incredulous look.

"But I'm not Praxian!" Jazz reiterated, feeling a burning sensation where the solvent was working its way through the glue.

"Its instinctual programming," Ratchet said, adding a few more drops. "When a mech or femme is interested in seeking a mate, they display their doorwings in such a fashion. Any one who is interested or who finds the display attractive, may approach and present themselves as potential candidates. Some Praxians have multiple suitors before deciding on a suitable mate."

"I'm not the harem type of mech," Jazz said, feeling the burning migrate further along the path of adhesive.

"Blue's young. He doesn't know how to answer to such a display other than what his ingrain programming tells him." Ratchet said, grabbing the makeshift door wing and giving it a jiggle. Some of the glue pulled free with the action "Having been sparked right before the fall of Praxus, he never witnessed the customs of his people and learned the proper way to approach courtship and attract mates."

"Gee, now I feel bad for turning him down," Jazz muttered. Had he been in control of the doorwings, they would have drooped.

"I'll be having a talk with him later," Ratchet said, adding more solvent.

"Sideswipe needs to realize some of his jokes aren't funny," Jazz said, remembering the hurt and confused look on Bluestreak's face as Jazz yelled his disinterest.

"Sideswipe never learns," Ratchet said, wiggling a little bit more free from its anchor. "He thinks everything is a joke and everything is for his entertainment."

"We'll see," Jazz muttered, his optics narrowing behind his visor. The burning went further down his back, making his internals feeling as if they were being boiled. "Want to help me teach him a lesson?"

Ratchet didn't even bother looking up from his work as he applied more solvent along the saboteur's false door wing. "If you can find a suitable punishment, then yes, I'm in. Fragger needs a good lesson."

"Oh, trust me, I have just the plan,' Jazz said, a sneer gracing his face that would have made Sunstreaker proud.

When Prowl awoke from his forced hibernation, the first thing he did was inquire the date and time. When the shock wore off, he called over ships comms for Sideswipe to spend the next two weeks in the brig. And just as Prowl felt justice had been done, Smokescreen sent out a comm., informing his fellow Praxian that Bluestreak had been a confused, gibbering mess since his deep sleep. After learning the aspect of why Bluestreak was upset, Prowl proceeded to schedule Sideswipe for every trivial task he could find. He even went so far as to give the frontliner only enough charge time between shifts before getting up and repeating the process. Sideswipe griped and complained, and finished his tasks, exhausted, and defeated. He swore he learned his lesson.

And all the while, Jazz was gathering the troops. When Sideswipe had been released from his last enforced work detail, he went gratefully to his berth, where he collapsed and fell into a deep charge. Jazz gathered all mechs to the rec room, minus Sideswipe. Even Sunstreaker was preset, though looking mutinous.

"So, everyone ready?" Jazz asked, glancing to the room at large.

Bluestreak averted his gaze from Jazz and murmured his assent with the others. It was taking the gunner time to understand the reaction his body naturally had to what he was supposed to recognize as a willing, available femme. Not only was he embarrassed by his own body's natural reaction, he was ashamed for allowing himself to succumb to the instincts to respond to such a ritualistic display , especially considering it was toward a commanding officer. Jazz had told Bluestreak he understood and forgave the transgression, but according to a still trembling Bluestreak, there was no excuse for his behavior and he was mortified that he had proposed such _suggestible_ things to his unintentional mate. Jazz had laughed it off to make the young gunner feel at ease and with Smokescreen and Prowl's guidance, Bluestreak was starting to heal from the psychological torture he had unwillingly endured.

Bluestreak didn't know, but he had an audience to his embarrassment. Sunstreaker had been watching the timid Praxian since the incident, taking several stills of the young, naive face. Bluestreak wore his innocence like a bright shiny badge and it was refreshing to see something so pure in a war that had raged so long. Though Sunstreaker would be loathe to admit it, Bluestreak gave him hope. From where and for whatever reason he didn't know, but it was there. And he had every intention of capturing that innocence in a medium.

"Everyone all set?" Jazz asked, looking to the room at large. All mechs nodded, including Sunstreaker.

"You sure you're okay with this?" Jazz asked the golden mech. He didn't want Sunstreaker going and blabbing the plans to his brother.

"It's going to cost almost ten thousand dollars to replace my supplies from the little temper tantrum he pulled when he was first assigned the added duties," Sunstreaker said, optics narrowing. "Though I'm taking the money from his account to pay for the replacement, he just doesn't seem to learn. I think this is an excellent idea."

Sunstreaker didn't want anyone to know that he was incensed when he learned of Sideswipe's callous disregard to others on board. Sideswipe had even laughed at Bluestreak's nativity when Sunstreaker chastised him, and had been heard cat calling to the young gunner on a couple of occasions.

Yes, Sideswipe was his brother. His twin. The other half of his soul. But he was also what the humans call an 'asshole'. It was time he was taught an invaluable lesson.

Sideswipe woke up the next day feeling tired, but refreshed. Shaking off the lingering affects of a deep charge, he stretched, hearing several joints pop. His attention was drawn to the other side of the room where similar echoes were coming from his twin as he too woke from a deep charge. Sunstreaker was still stretching when there was a knock at the door. He glared to his twin, but Sideswipe rolled over, pretending to be still in the throes of waking up. Knowing it was typical, yet a counted on maneuver, Sunstreaker got up and answered the door. Jazz stood, face beaming as always in a jovial mood, his hand held out and displaying a silver can of wax.

"Sorry Sunny, I couldn't find the stuff you wanted," Jazz said. "But you can use this. It's just as expensive."

Sunstreaker offered an annoyed huff but took the offered can, his face twisting into a smirk before closing the door on Jazz in a dramatic fashion. Sideswipe chose that moment to announce his full consciousness and rolled to face his twin.

"Why did Jazz give you wax?" he said, pulling himself up and standing in front of his brother.

"Jazz was going into town and offered to replenish our supply," Sunstreaker said, looking the new can over as if he held clues to a mystery.

"Jazz is still mad at me," Sideswipe said, nodding toward the can. "He could have sabotaged the wax. I wouldn't use that if I were you."

"Who would sabotage wax?" Sunstreaker asked. Actually, he thought that was a valid point. But he already knew Jazz's plan and therefore was unafraid.

"Jazz," Sideswipe said giving the silver container a suspicious optic.

"You're just being paranoid," Sunstreaker scoffed, opening the can.

Sideswipe winced, taking a step back. When the can opened and the soft scent of mint wafted to his olfactory sensor, he frowned, glaring at the can. It should have exploded or something should have jumped out. But Sunstreaker didn't seem perturbed or even mildly bothered by the can of wax.

Sunstreaker lifted the can, sniffing it and giving it an approving noise.

"You're not going to use it, are you?" Sideswipe asked.

"Different brand than what I normally use, but I don't see why not," Sunstreaker said, subspacing his favorite applicator and lightly dipping the edge into the scented wax.

"Don't!" Sideswipe shouted as his brother applied the wax in a gentle, circular motion along his forearm.

"I'm not rubbing it in hard!" Sunstreaker protested. "I know how to apply wax!"

Sideswipe bit his glossa watching with wide optics as his twin applied the wax all over his body. When he was finished, he set the can aside and took out a chamois, his hands steady as the wax was buffed away. A minty smell filled their room as Sunstreaker buffed himself, Sideswipe torn between wanting to destroy the can of wax and waiting to see what would happen to his twin.

When Sunstreaker was done, he put his polishing cloths away and admired himself in the full length mirror in the corner of his room. He turned left and right, and though the wax wasn't his normal brand, it did make him shine rather beautifully. His optics caught sight of his twin watching him, obviously believing that Jazz had tampered with the wax in retribution. The only flaw with that theory was that Jazz knew better than to tamper with anything that belonged to Sunstreaker, especially anything that dealt with his personal maintenance and looks. Jazz wasn't suicidal.

Sunstreaker offered a noise of acceptance and turned, giving a little start as if just noticing his brother in the room. He nodded toward the can of wax. "You should touch up. Your paint looks dingy."

Sideswipe looked to his person. There were a couple of dull places, but on the whole, his plating was still shiny and just as eye catching as his brother's. He wasn't that bad looking, but with the disdainful sneer Sunstreaker was directing his way, he knew he better give himself the once over. Or else Sunstreaker wouldn't shut up and wouldn't be seen in public with him looking so 'savage'.

Taking the hint he lathered on the wax and began buffing as Sunstreaker canted his head slightly, watching his twin set to work. He redirected Sideswipe's motion twice before huffing and stalking to his twin, buffing the ruby frame to an immaculate shine. Sideswipe grunted with the force of Sunstreaker's attention but had to admit, the new wax did make him shine quite nicely. It was when he felt a strong pulse through the bond that made him look to his brother, unsure what had caused such a knocking sensation in his spark chamber. Sunstreaker was frowning, one hand leaving its task to rub absently over his spark chamber.

"What's wrong?" Sideswipe asked. He didn't like it when his twin had a spark ache. Sunstreaker's spark was the weaker of the two and had a tendency to become destabilized.

"Don't know," Sunstreaker muttered, returning his attention to his twins paint job and finishing with his polish. He stepped back to admire his work. "Not too bad. Course with the materials available, I did what I could."

"Oh, shut up," Sideswipe grumbled, placing the can on the shelf and giving the edges of his plating one last swipe.

Sunstreaker gave his brother's frame a critical optic, curt nod, then opened the door. The duo exited their quarters, Sideswipe's tank choosing that moment to grumble. They headed to the rec room to grab a cube of mid-grade.

Hound and Mirage were talking as they rounded the corner, almost colliding with the two. Normally both mechs would talk to Sideswipe, knowing Sunstreaker wasn't the social type, and would move on. But today, both halted and stared at the twin Lamborghinis.

"Morning,' Sideswipe called as he and his twin approached the two mechs.

"Morning," they chimed in unison, their optics darting from one Lamborghini to the next.

"Looking good, Sunstreaker," Mirage intoned as he gave a long draught.

Hound mirrored his companion's actions, his optics falling up on Sideswipe's ruby armor. He took a few inconspicuous sniffs before adding, "Sideswipe is looking rather radiant as well."

"Hmm," Mirage agreed, his optics roving with hungry intent over the lithe frame.

"Thanks, guys," Sideswipe beamed, puffing his armor and prancing past the two like a peacock in full display.

Sunstreaker went past, sharing the rare smile with Hound and Mirage. They smirked and took their leave for their shift, asking Sunstreaker for the favor of recording the proceedings so they could enjoy the fun later. Sunstreaker agreed, if only to teach his brother the lesson of humiliation.

When the two were standing next to the dispenser, Sideswipe received another compliment. He grinned, displaying himself in grand style, soaking in the attention and allowing the other bots a chance to bask in his radiance. He felt like Sunstreaker!

Jazz sauntered up, his optics roving over Sideswipe's frame before landing on Sunstreaker's. Sideswipe tensed, knowing the black and white officer was holding a grudge and that his justice was going to be swift upon the gorgeous, polished armor. But Jazz smiled and talked, and next thing Sideswipe knew, Jazz was leading Sunstreaker toward a table and the two were talking as if old friends.

Sideswipe stood stunned, staring at his twin and trying to understand the emotion being muffled through their bond. It was as if Sunstreaker was _enjoying_ himself, and he tried to hide it from his twin. Confused, Sideswipe made for the table where his twin was sitting, but Ironhide and Trailbreaker blocked his path.

"Hey Sides," Ironhide drawled, his optics taking in the extra glimmer to the ruby armor. "You're looking rather polished today."

"Thanks," Sideswipe said, trying to sidestep his two road blocks but they countered his move.

"He means to say, you are looking particularly gorgeous today," Trailbreaker added, using all his will power to not break down into insane laughter.

"Sunny has a new wax," Sideswipe said, moving his body in a way that made the light catch the shimmering surface. "He let me borrow some."

"Looks good," Ironhide said, taking a step toward the ruby warrior and blocking his path with his body. "In fact, I wouldn't mind taking a closer look at your detailing."

"Maybe later," Sideswipe said, waving his hand and taking a step around Ironhide.

Ironhide frowned. Either Sideswipe was dense and not getting the clues, or Ironhide had lost his touch and could no longer seduce someone. Well, that was not only a sobering thought but a ridiculous one as well. Ironhide couldn't lose his touch. It was ingrain into his programming. Instead of letting the naïve frontliner get past him, Ironhide's arm darted out, grasping the frontliner around the middle. With obvious intent he drew the other ruby body against his own, his engine rumbling in suggestion.

"I want to inspect you _now_," Ironhide purred in Sideswipe's audio.

The effect was instantaneous. Sideswipe's spinal strut snapped to immediate attention, giving him Prowl's posture. His optics went wide, finding a rough hand caress his back while he was held immobile against a rumbling frame of an obviously aroused mech. Another hand soon joined the first and before Sideswipe could protest, both hands caressed down his aft, the digits sneaking into seams and touching sensitive wires.

Sideswipe yelped, jumping out of Ironhide's arms. The weapon's master gave a pouty face, his hand reaching out to stroke down Sideswipe's arm.

"What's wrong?" Ironhide asked, using his coughing engine as a sign of arousal instead of amusement.

"What is wrong with you?" Sideswipe asked, perturbed as to why he was just molested by the two mechs. "You've never…."

What the two mechs had never done was lost on Sideswipe's vocalizer as he felt a pang of arousal coming from his twin. When his optics snapped to the table where Sunstreaker was seated, Sideswipe saw with shocked optics, as Jazz linked fingers with Sunstreaker and both slipped through the door like young lovers. Sideswipe's jaw hit the floor.

"Nice," a voice murmured from behind Sideswipe before fingers trailed over his shoulder and down along his back strut.

Sideswipe shivered. He turned frightful optics toward the voice and found Windcharger and Bumblebee staring with hungry optics at his ruddy plating.

"Oh, Primus," Sideswipe muttered, his processor working double time. Realization hit with a planetary shudder.

"I must inquire," Perceptor asked, his head craning over a couple of mechs to see Sideswipe's terrified face. "What have you done differently that has enhanced your appeal to such a degree that I find myself unable to divert my attention?"

"You too?" Sideswipe cried out. He took a step back, staring in abject horror to the bots before him.

Windcharger extended his hand, wanting the ruby mech to take it and choose him above the others. Ironhide puffed his armor, taking a bold step toward the mech in question, his engine idling on high.

When a hand touched his own, Sideswipe jumped a foot in the air and let out an undignified squeak. He turned, finding the flared doorwings of Prowl standing behind him.

"Oh, thank Primus! Someone who can see reason!" Sideswipe said, wanting to laugh and cry at the lifeline offered by his most treasured nemesis. "Prowl, you have to talk some sense into .. in… into…"

Instead of Prowl breaking contact, he took Sideswipe's servo into his own and brought it to his lip components. He planted a chaste kiss upon the knuckles, his doorwings fanning wide in a courtship display. His optics was dark as he surveyed Sideswipe.

"Sideswipe," Prowl rumbled, never breaking optic contact.

Sideswipe let out a sound like a mouse being stepped on. He pushed away from the smothering crowd, staring at them with wide optics. He glanced to his forearm, where the ruby metal shone like a red dwarf, blazing for all to see.

"Jazz," Sideswipe breathed, his fuel pump hammering. "What have you done?"

"Saw Jazz being lead down the hall by Sunstreaker," Smokescreen said, pushing his way forward and giving Sideswipe's frame an appreciative glance. His voice dipped lower, sensual, as he added, "Never seen either so… _amorous_… before."

Sideswipe opened his side of the bond and felt an instant assault of lust and pleasure. The bond snapped closed so quickly, there was a slight _pop_ in Sideswipe's frame.

"Primus," Sideswipe muttered, noting how Smokescreen mirrored Prowl's actions.

Both Praxians were flaring their doorwings and giving the customary flicker of attraction. Both were rumbling low in their chassis' their optics darkening as they stared into Sideswipe's optics.

Not knowing what to do, Sideswipe took a step away from the prowling duo and felt a hand grasp his own. He turned stunned optics to Tracks, who offered a coy smirk before pulling the Lamborghini flush against him. Tracks rumbled his high performance engine in a clear display of arousal, the vibrations shaking Sideswipe to the core and making his internals quake. Of course, with the fear flooding his senses, there was a good chance the arousal wasn't the cause of his tremors. Tracks licked his lip components, his arms encasing the still stunned Lamborghini.

"You are looking very handsome today with that gorgeous shine," Tracks purred, tightening his grip just a fraction. "Do you want to go to your room and see how shiny we can make each other?"

Sideswipe let out a yelp and wriggled free. He stumbled, looking from one libidinous bot to the next, all with darkened optics and honed in on his shiny frame like a bull after the red cape.

Smokescreen offered a little sniff and added, "I don't know what you used, Sideswipe, but it's an alluring fragrance."

"Very agreeable," Prowl nodded, shouldering Smokescreen aside and causing the other Praxian to hiss in retaliation. "I didn't know you could display such charming, and highly… _provocative_ mannerisms to announce your desire for courtship."

"I… I … _courtship_?" Sideswipe asked, his voice cracking into a soft 'meep' as Prowl stepped forward. A stray sensation of pleasure slipped through the bond from his twin. Sideswipe clamped down hard on his end, trying to block out everything his brother was experiencing.

"Perhaps setting up Jazz was merely the test to ensure that he would have sufficient suitors?" Smokescreen said, nudging Prowl to try to enhance his virile display.

Prowl stomped his pede, clearly establishing himself as the dominate male to the other Praxian, but Smokescreen wasn't going to back down. Smokescreen answered by arching his doorwings, then flattening them along his back. Both glared in open hostility, until Prowl spoke, his voice rough and edged with masculine aggression.

"I propose we take him together," Prowl said, his optics boring into Smokescreen's. "Then he may decide which of us is the more_ alluring_ mate."

"Agreed," Smokescreen said.

Both mechs turned their attention to the now terrified front line warrior.

"Mechs, settle down," Gears said, huffing to the front and placing his hands on his hips. He glared to the assembled mechs, his face drawn in revulsion. "What is wrong you lot?"

Sideswipe felt a sudden urge to hug the minibot. Here was someone who wasn't trying to get under his plating. Here was an ally. Gears could put them all to shame and hopefully snap… whatever this was… out of the assembled mechs. Gears could curb even the most libidinous of moods. Sideswipe should know. He'd had many a good mood ruined by the annoying minibot.

"It's only fair that Sideswipe sample the minibots first, then work his way up to you larger, more brutish mechs," Gears said, turning his face toward Sideswipe.

And for once, anger and annoyance wasn't on the unattractive face. Optics were dark, lip components were curled in a lecherous sneer, and Gears' EM field brushed against Sideswipe's own.

Sideswipe emitted a strangled _**meep**_ before turning and attempting to bolt from the room. A loud _**clang **_signaled his immediate arrest in momentum when his face collided with a solid windshield. He looked up the massive form into the gentle, kind, caring optics of his leader, his mentor, the only sane mech in the world.

"Sideswipe, what are you doing?" Prime asked in a long suffering voice.

"Everyone is crazy!" Sideswipe blurted out, his fingers latching onto Prime's chest plates and giving his much large frame a considerable shake. "Jazz spiked the wax and now they all want to spike **me**!"

"What?" Prime asked, fighting down the urge to laugh. Sideswipe really did look terrified.

"Jazz is mad at me for pulling a harmless prank, so he sabotaged a can of wax with some sort of…. _**pheromone,**_ then ran off to take advantage of my brother, who doesn't deserve to be mech handled, least of all by Jazz, and now everyone is trying to get under my plating and I just want to get to the washracks and get this stuff off so everyone will go back to normal and leave me alone!" Sideswipe spoke in a rapid voice that could have given Bluestreak a run for his credits.

Prime looked to the assembled mechs, all of who were still staring transfixed at Sideswipe.

"Is this true?" Prime asked, his optics zeroing in on Prowl.

"Affirmative," Prowl said, ruffling his doorwings. "Sideswipe is displaying not only physical signs of desiring a mate, but he is exuding a scent that is attractive to males who find his courtship to be…" Prowl paused, taking a deep inhale, his optics going black with suppressed arousal, "Intoxicating."

"Prime, you have to help me!" Sideswipe shrieked, giving Prime another shake to emphasize his point.

"But if you're displaying signs…" Prime trailed off, watching as Sideswipe literally fell apart with desperate sobs.

"It was a joke," Sideswipe cried out, burying his face against Prime's chest. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"You mean, where you set up Jazz in such a provocative display and young, naïve, _innocent_, Bluestreak, who didn't understand what was going on, but was humiliated by the incident in question?" Prime asked, hoping the information was going to sink in. He pushed Sideswipe away, holding him at arm's length.

"Yes!" Sideswipe cried out, his optics wide as he stared up into Prime's face. "It was just a joke. I didn't mean anything by it. And now Jazz has gone too far and now everyone on the ARK wants to berth me!"

"It's not Jazz's fault you are actively pursuing a mate," Prowl said, his doorwings giving another flicker, though this time it was amusement. He kept a stoic face as he continued, "If one does not wish the attention of a potential mate, then one should not perform such rituals of display to broadcast their desire."

"I'm not!" Sideswipe cried out again, feeling an overwhelming sensation flood the bond.

Sideswipe felt his relays tingle in pleasure, the residual effects causing his EM field to flux, his engine surge with excitement. He gasped, feeling as if he was racing to overload, though there was no pleasurable stimuli upon his person. He shuddered, knowing his brother was causing the sensation. Another tremor ran through him, though it had nothing to do with lust.

"You should try minibots," Gears said, flexing his body and giving a twisted look. "We may be small but we know how to handle our partners."

"_**We**_ are first," Smokescreen said, swinging his body wide to accommodate his doorwings. "We saw him first!"

"Did not!" Gears countered, raising his fist.

"Did!" Smokescreen yelled, his voice accented by Prowl's threatening growl beside him.

"Mechs, please!" Prime said, raising his hands to gain calm.

Sideswipe stood a blithering mess before the Prime, his face downcast as he tried to block out his twin and the deliriously sensual sensations flooding the bond. Sideswipe felt gratitude toward Prime for bringing order to the chaos. Primus, he had no idea how wound up the crew could get over something as simple as a joke. Perhaps it wasn't so funny afterall. Now that he had time to think, and experience some of the fear and humiliation, it definitely **wasn't** funny. Prime's strong hands braced Sideswipe's forearms, keeping him steady in a world that was spinning with insanity.

"But, it's not fair the minibots have to go last. We should be allowed to go in order according to size," Gears whined, grinning behind Sideswipe's back.

Sideswipe shivered, not liking the idea of having ANY minibot get that close and personal with him.

"That is a ridiculous suggestion," Prime said, feeling the tense bot relax in his grip. "We shall be fair about this. We go in order of rank."

Sideswipe's relaxation lasted only a second as he felt gentle fingertips trace along his arm and along his sides. His optics widened when he noted Prime's path to his waist and like a femme, he screamed and bolted from the rec room. His pedes rang like a battle song through the ARK as he raced for open air. As soon as he hit the entrance to the ARK, he transformed and zoomed out across the horizon, leaving behind a laughing crew.

Jazz handed Sunstreaker another energon treat as both sat in the security room, Red Alert laughing so hard he was laying face down on the consol. Bluestreak was blushing furiously in the background and refused to speak a word. Sunstreaker accepted the treat, a smirk lighting up his faceplates as he watched his brother's frightened tailpipes disappear from view.

"You were good," Jazz commented, noting how the screen lit up Sunstreaker's features in a very pleasant way. The Special Ops mech never knew Sunstreaker could smile. It was certainly an improvement.

"Your plan," Sunstreaker said, nodding to the video feed on the recording cameras.

They sat in silence for a moment, Red Alert still laughing his aft off. Bluestreak exited to find Smokescreen and Prowl to congratulate them on a scene well played. The mechs in the rec room went back to their daily routines, having enacted their part of the scheme. After a moment, Jazz turned to Sunstreaker.

"We made a good team," he said, watching Sunstreaker's reaction. "Ever think about changing to Special Ops?"

Sunstreaker offered a slow shake of his head, his optics watching the monitor as the whole scene was replayed over Tele-Tran's main systems.

"Not my thing," Sunstreaker said, hitting the button to make a copy of the prank so he could use it as blackmail later. Red Alert wouldn't mind. He was currently wheezing through his vents as consciousness threatened to leave him. "But you may want to stop by my quarters later."

"Right," Jazz nodded. "Have to torture your brother a little more by thinking we're an item."

"Fragger needs the lesson," Sunstreaker said, grabbing the datachip as it was ejected. "Besides, if he thinks you're with me, he'll avoid our quarters. And I get some peace and quiet from his stupidity."

Jazz nodded as Sunstreaker rose from his chair. He was to the door when Jazz called, "And Sunstreaker?" When the golden twin turned to acknowledge the black and white mech, Jazz added, "That polish **does** make you shine quite nicely."

Sunstreaker offered a smirk and disappeared through the door, Jazz snickering following him out.

As the ARK crew went about their business, Sideswipe was racing to the ocean. When he got to the shore he transformed and dove into the surf. Like a mech possessed he rubbed at his plating, scrubbing with a brush and solvent from his subspace. He vigorously rubbed and buffed and scoured and exfoliated, growling oaths that made the seagulls rebuke him as they flew off, offended. Sideswipe didn't notice them.

He also didn't notice the multiple specks on the horizon that signaled aerial attack.

Megatron had every intention of leading his troops to a power plant and collecting some fuel, but Soundwave informed him of an unexpected gift. A lone Autobot was on the shore, unaware of the danger circling above. When the other Decepticons confirmed that the Autobot was alone and indeed, ignorant of their approach, Megatron sent Starscream and his trine in to deal with the pest.

"Look what we have here," Skywarp chanted, teleporting to the shore and glaring across the water to the still scrubbing Autobot.

Sideswipe froze, his body turning in slow motion to see the three seekers standing on shore, Starscream in the forefront. Throwing up his hands in defeat, Sideswipe stalked toward the trio, Thundercracker and Skywarp leveling their weapons at the approaching Autobot while Starscream stood smug, flanked by his trusty bodyguards.

"Okay! That's it!" Sideswipe shouted, walking to the three mechs and leaving a trail of misplaced aquatic animals in his wake. "I've had it! I can't take it anymore!"

Raised weapons went unnoticed as Sideswipe walked straight toward Starscream. Megatron landed further away, a twisted smile as he expected both combatants to tear each other to pieces. It wasn't his original plan but it would be a bonus to his day. He didn't like either and if they terminated each other, well, he'd just have to celebrate by getting overcharged on the fuel they were going to steal.

"Stay where you are, Autobot!" Skywarp threatened, his weapons trained on Sideswipe.

"Oh, no, won't back out of this now," Sideswipe said, ignoring the weapons.

All of the Decepticons stared as Sideswipe approached, unafraid and unarmed to the elite trine. He stopped a couple feet short of Starscream, who stared dumbfounded at the idiot Autobot who dared such insubordination to the Lord of the Skies.

"I know I'm fragging hot and that you can't resist and truthfully, I have a thing for seekers, I just never said anything about it," Sideswipe said, his voice sounding annoyed, angry, exasperated, and with a hint of desperation. "So instead of doing the whole courtship thing, and giving you signals to let you know I'm interested, let's just forget all about it and get to the fragging. Because, quite frankly, I'm tired of dancing around the subject and it's been a long time since I had a good frag." He looked directly at Starscream before adding, "And I'm more than curious to find out how loud you can scream."

Starscream stood, mouth agape, processor frozen, fuel pump pounding in his audios. Surely he misheard the Autobot? He didn't say what he thought he just said? Right?

Time stopped. Silence reigned on the shorefront. The elite trine stood as statues, facing the ruby warrior who looked from one to the other, waiting to see who was going to act upon his offer first. His optics kept landing on Starscream, and with intent in his optics, his gaze traveled the expanse of white wings. There was the dull rumble of a racing engine throttling to high.

"Decepticons, retreat," Megatron called, jumping into the air.

It took a few moments but the other Decepticons followed suit. Thundercracker took off, realizing his plating was itching and his processor was aching. Whatever had gotten into the crazed Autobot, there was a chance Thundercracker had just picked it up. He was susceptible that way. Skywarp teleported away, instantly opening a comms to his trine mates.

'**What the frag was that all about?'** Skywarp asked, hovering over the beach as Starscream continued to stare at his adversary.

Starscream snapped out of his stupor and took to the air, glancing back to the ruby warrior before transforming to join the other Decepticons as they headed inland.

"Inquiry?" Soundwave asked, both verbally and through comms. "Autobot escape? Reason: unknown."

"Simple," Megatron said, glancing down to the tiny dot that was the Autobot. "Any bot who would want to frag Starscream has to be glitched in the processor and not worth our time."

Starscream glared at Megatron's back, wanting so badly to open fire and send the tyrant crashing into the trees below. But he refrained. Megatron's time was coming. Starscream just has to wait, and he was a very patient mech.

Down below, Sideswipe sighed, looking to his scratched and dull plating. When he took in his rather battered appearance, he realized it wasn't the best condition to be in to propose casual interfacing. He sighed, turning back to look out over the expanse of the ocean. A sheen of iridescent floated on top of the water, the innocent wax long since been scrubbed clean of its foundation.

Sideswipe shook his head in disgust. First he was too handsome and alluring, then he scrubbed off his 'sexy' and now he was like any other mech. He sighed again, knowing he would just have to work out the right mixture, and then, no one would be able to resist him.

He hoped Sunstreaker still had some of that wax left.

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NO, the idiot doesn't learn.

I apologize for any errors. Like I said, this almost didn't get finished in time. *guilty look* 

Reviews are LOVED. Thank you all!


	81. A Freudian Swipe

A Freudian Swipe

Yes, I know, it's a remake of a Freudian Slip but bear with me. These things aren't easy to name ya know! Thankfully, my mother comes through every time!

I really dont know WHERE my mind comes up with these...

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"Ah, right this way, mechs and femmes," Sideswipe said to the swelling crowd. "Right this way and prepare yourselves for a sumptuous feast!"

Every set of optics looked expectant, some lustful. They had witnessed the delicacies provided by the new establishment that catered to…. unusual, tastes. There was always a massive crowd and a waiting list that stretched into the cosmos.

Sideswipe smiled, making several feminine sparks flutter. He gestured for the crowd to follow him and with a nod, Sunstreaker opened the door to the inner sanctum. There was a moment of silence as the assembled bots stared in awe and delight, struck dumb by the sheer beauty and magnificence of the delicacies. Then as the full weight of the moment and delicious feasts were observed, applause and appreciative babble broke out. Sideswipe raised his servos, drinking in the adulation while trying to calm the crowd so he could speak.

Sunstreaker leaned against the door, watching as the patrons filed in, drawn to Sideswipe and the decadence he offered.

"There will be only four allowed per table so chose wisely." Sideswipe's voice echoed in the room. "Once you chose a table you will not be allowed to change."

Several mechs and femmes looked crestfallen, no doubt wanting a sample of all the delights. With the price they paid for admission, one would think they would have unlimited trips to the flavorful bounty.

"Shall we?" Sideswipe asked, his optic caught by a deep blue femme that had white accents. Her optics were a soft golden color that Sunstreaker would find desirable.

"The first offering is a wonderful Prime parfait," Sideswipe said, looking over his leader's frame as it was smothered in a thick, heavy cream with assorted berries. Prime wore a goofy, lopsided expression, apparently not minding the fact he was being offered as food to a very hungry crowd.

"Next, we have a Caramelized Datsun." Sideswipe stopped by Prowl's table, showing the black and white officer completely covered in a mahogany dressing. Caramel dripped from high doorwings in silky spiderwebs. He looked strangely at peace with the sticky substance.

"Here we have a Ratchet Raspberry tart." Sideswipe looked to the medical officer who scowled, his mouth full of raspberries. "Be warned with this one. It looks good but packs quite the punch."

Sideswipe ignored Ratchet and went to the next table, where Jazz was buried under a mound of brownies, ice cream, chocolate syrup, sprinkles, and chopped nuts. "And here we have some Jazz Sundaes, marshmallows are optional."

"And here…" Sideswipe paused before shaking his head in slow motion. "A Wheeljack soufflé but it appears as if it has collapsed…. Again."

"We also off a Cliffjumper Casserole," Sideswipe said, pointing to the fuming mech who was baked neck deep in noodles, vegetables and cheese. "A lovely, creamy Bumblebee Bisque that will go splendidly with a Blaster BBQ. If you want something more substantial, there's Grilled Ironhide, Mirage-kabobs, pan seared Perceptor, and oven roasted Gears." Sideswipe pointed to the glaring minibot. "Be warned, he's gamey."

"Tracks treacle, fresh caught Powerglide and glazed Bluestreak," Sideswipe said, looking to the grey gunner who was trussed up, his doorwings sporting little white decorative cuffs. "Smokescreen a la orange and Huffer under glass. Believe me, he's better that way."

The crowd came to the last table which was surprisingly bare.

"Odd. I don't recall seeing another on the menu for this evening," Sideswipe muttered. "There must have been a mistake."

"Oh no, there's one more dish." Sunstreaker said, looking to the hungry gazes surrounding them.

"What is it?" Sideswipe asked, wondering who was left to be placed in a dish to be served.

"You," Sunstreaker said, shoving Sideswipe forward. Instantly he was covered in a fine dusting of white, his body freezing into position. "Sugar coated Sideswipe. The last course of the evening."

Sideswipe's optics widened in fear as several of the bots advanced, their mouths opening to reveal long, pointy steel teeth and crushing mandibles. He tried to escape but they were upon him, clawing, biting, scratching, gnawing.

With an audio piercing scream Sideswipe bolted upright on his berth. His optics were wide, crazed, his ventilations coming in short, rapid bursts. His spark was pounding a techno beat in his chest.

Sunstreaker reared back to keep from colliding with his twin as he sat up. His expression was neutral, but there was annoyance filling the bond.

"What was it this time?" Sunstreaker asked in resignation. He had a feeling where this was going. It was happening a lot lately.

"You were going to eat me!" Sideswipe gasped before checking over his person for bite marks.

"I wouldn't eat you," Sunstreaker assured his brother. "You're junk food and I have my figure to maintain."

Sunstreaker rose from his brother's berth and went to his own, stretching out on its cushioned surface to return to charge. His own dreams of lusty femmes had been interrupted by his brother's spark call.

"I dreamt we opened a restaurant and cooked the guys!" Sideswipe said, still shaken up over the realistic dream.

Sunstreaker turned his helm in slow motion, his blank expression falling upon his brother. "Food?"

Sideswipe avoided his brother's gaze. That was all Sunstreaker needed to know.

"What did you have to ingest this time?" Sunstreaker asked in exasperation. Sideswipe had gotten off on a new tangent of experimenting with organic foods. Perceptor was to blame and if the science mech didn't leave the easily influenced and gullible Lamborghini alone, Sunstreaker was going to have words with him.

Sideswipe muttered something unintelligible before he lay back down.

"What?" Sunstreaker prompted. He really didn't want to know, but if Sideswipe had any negative reactions to organic foods, then Perceptor, and Ratchet, would need to be aware. Course there was a chance Ratchet would throttle Perceptor if he found out what the scientist had talked the resident idiot into trying. It bore some thought. "What did you ingest?"

"Oreos! Okay? Happy?" Sideswipe snapped and rolled to his side, facing the wall.

A minute passed by. Sunstreaker lay, open mouthed, and gobsmacked. A stray thought worked its way into his processor and before he could stop himself he asked, "How did they taste?"

Sideswipe felt his anger bleed away, a smirk forming. "Good. _Really_ good!"

"Like?" Sunstreaker prompted.

"There is no other thing in the universe that can compare to the taste of chocolate." Sideswipe confided in his twin.

"That good?" Sunstreaker sounded intrigued.

"Hmm," Sideswipe said, his analyzers relaying the phantom taste.

"How many did you eat?"

"Eight bags."

"What?"

"Yeah, Perceptor only let me have eight. He said he didn't know what the side effects would be."

Sunstreaker closed his optics, his curiosity now peaked about the sensational taste known as 'chocolate'.

Another minute passed before Sideswipe spoke, his voice barely over a whisper.

"Sunny?"

"Yeah?" Sunstreaker answered despite the nickname.

"I'm hungry."

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Someone told me that the bots can ingest organic food and burn it as a fuel. I don't see how that is even possible, but my mind went to Oreos.

And was anyone else drooling over the 'dishes"?

I wouldn't mind a few _**'servings'**_


	82. A Sun's Education

**A Sun's Education**

**Galem**: Thank you for all your lovely reviews! Glad you have enjoyed my insanity.

**Transformersfan**: You must have read my mind because Bee was in the upcoming chapter but admittedly, he's never been one of my fave characters.

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Sideswipe and Sunstreaker transformed and entered the ARK. Both were returning from a day off of enjoying an outdoor art festival and Sunstreaker had received quite the acclaim from local artists when his work was displayed. Such praise, even from the humans, bolstered his ego and he strutted like a peacock with full plumage. As they rounded the corner they saw Bumblebee catch up to Spike, the yellow scout trying to talk to the boy about something that was obviously important. Bumblebee looked distraught and Spike was pale and refused to meet his friend's optics.

"What's wrong Spike?" Sideswipe asked, smiling in that disarming way that put people off their guard.

Bumblebee had his hand on the youngster's back, trying to get his attention. At the mention of his name, Spike emitted a strange animal noise and went running down the hall like the Pit Maker was after him. Bumblebee called after his friend, following behind.

This piqued Sideswipe's interest.

"What the slag was that all about?" Sunstreaker asked. He didn't really like the humans and only tolerated them when they were piling on the praise, adulation and high quality polish. They were one conundrum after another and seemed to thrive on chaos and stupidity. One would think their race was spawned from the twins.

Sideswipe offered a shrug. Any further conversation was cut off as Prowl's voice came over the private comms.

'**Prowl to all members of the ark. Spike has just learned of our physical anatomic similarities and complex interpersonal interactions. According to Ratchet he is not taking this news well and I advise all to avoid him for fear of upsetting him. Allow the boy to come to terms with our structural parameters and then when he is comfortable, the subject may be tactfully broached. That is all.'**

"What was that?" Sunstreaker asked, looking to his brother for clarification.

"Spike just learned he's named after our favor part," Sideswipe said. He looked down the hall were the boy had ran, and heard Bumblebee's voice with simpering words meant to offer comfort to a potentially traumatized mind, floating around the corner.

"Let's go embarrass him!" Sideswipe grinned, following after the distraught boy. Sunstreaker's evil smirk was his answer.

"Its just ..so… weird." Spike said, keeping his gaze to the floor. His hand rubbed his stomach as he gave a shudder. "Too freaking _weird_."

"How is it weird?" Bumblebee asked, genuinely curious.

"I mean….you're _robots_…," Spike said, looking to Bumblebee as if that single word would explain everything.

"You are organic," Sideswipe said, butting into the conversation and seeing Spike give a violent start. The way the human said the word 'robots' made his mischievous streak disappear and be replaced with an indignant, parental tone. "Think how gross it is to us when we think about your squishie parts moving around."

Spike blanched, then creased his brow, looking between the Lamborghinis.

"But, you aren't supposed…. To… to… " Spike looked away, flushing deep scarlet.

"Spike, we're living, functioning beings with a mind, a spark and body parts similar to your own,' Sideswipe said, not understanding what was so difficult to understand.

Bee was looking distinctly uncomfortable as well. He had yet to mature to the Cybertronian standards and wasn't looking forward to his own more serious talks with the older mechs that mentored him. He had a sneaky suspicion he was going to be just as embarrassed when he started experimenting with awakening arrays.

"We fight, we hurt, we kill,' Sunstreaker said listing his favorite activities first. He extended his arm where a weld scar was slowly being healed by his repair nanites, showing the human boy the wound inflicted by the enemy. "We bleed, just like you."

"We protect our own. Feel joy, sadness, suffer physical and emotional hurt, seek comfort when we're distressed or in pain and rely on bonds of friendship to keep us sane in a war that has raged longer than the human race has existed." Sideswipe picked up, gaining Spike's attention before adding in a hurtful tone. "And you believe we could not experience something as simple as… _love_, for another?"

"Never thought of it that way," Spike muttered. He hesitated, his face screwed up with a look of revulsion as he added, "But.. the names of some of your…. your…"

Sunstreaker was enjoying the many shades of red the human could create. He made a tally and found Spike to be displaying at least fifteen different hues. It was quite the accomplishment.

"Our parts are similar to your own and serve much the same function." Sideswipe put in.

"And if you want to complain about names, it was not our fault you were named after a mechs' interface." Sunstreaker said, earning number sixteen. He wondered if all the humans had such a vast physical color wheel.

Spike blushed. How could the bots talk to him all this time and not feel unease or break their cool exterior? Why did it not occur to him that they were just like any other species? Several talked about their femmes at home, back on Cybertron. Certainly such words of endearment and the accompanying teasing from teammates confirmed that they did have complex relationships. So how could it be that he never considered they would have _physical_ manifestations of attraction just like humans?

"And if you want to talk about strange names, don't even get me stated on the names of human anatomy," Sideswipe said, waving his hand.

"_Vagina_," Sunstreaker sneered the word, then gave a shudder. "Sounds like something you'd get from a disreputable parts dealer from the bad section of town."

Sideswipe adopted a high falsetto voice, his optics bright as he enacted a crazed femme, "Excuse me! I'm looking for a high quality part."

Sunstreaker took over, adopting a low, grating noise that sent chills along spinal struts. "Sorry ma'am, all I have is a few cheap vaginas."

Spike dissolved into laughter, his face wet with tears. When it was put in such context, it didn't seem so difficult to understand. Even Bumblebee was laughing. He had endured a lection from Ratchet about human bodies and all their assorted, tawdry, and downright ugly looking body parts.

"Wait… does that mean….?" Spike looked to Bumblebee, his eyes going wide, his face flushing a scarlet to make Sideswipe jealous.

"Bumblebee is too young for interfacing," Sideswipe said, guessing what was causing the human to resemble a volcano. The color was nice. Not as shiny as Sideswipe, but still, it was a good attempt.

Bumblebee gave a sheepish look, rubbing the back of his neck as he diverted his gaze from the three around him. He was rather bashful when it came to such topics. He understood Spike's mortification as he too had some rather disturbing lectures and witnessed things that not only piqued his interest but scared the bolts out of him. He wasn't sure he wanted to engage in the activities he had witnessed the other's performing. They had sounded fun and everyone claimed it was enjoyable, but the act looked…. dangerous.

"It's okay, Bee," Spike said, feeling more than a little relieved that he wouldn't walk in and his best friend bent over a table. That image made him blush again and his stomach threaten to rebel. "My dad tells me I'm too young too. That's nothing to be ashamed of."

Spike swallowed hard, wanting to add that it was shameful what was filling his mind now about the Autobots. He had seen his dad's girly magazines when he was about ten, and finding them odd, he had sat and went through every single page. When his dad walked in and found him sitting there, looking confused, he had stood against the impossible task of talking about anatomy and sex with his son and answered his questions. The pictures really helped in several aspects. Sparkplug had been patient and understanding and quelling his own discomfort over the topics. He educated his son on what was proper around girls, and what would get him into trouble. Spike had listened intently, and when their talk was done, he knew where the limits were to inappropriate behavior. It was later that Spike got sick, realizing his parents had done those things when he was conceived and he spent the rest of the week avoiding eye contact with his father.

"Doubt it would kill you if you tried!" Sunstreaker snorted at the human.

"His father might,' Sideswipe added. Sunstreaker gave a nod in answer.

"What do you mean?" Spike asked, watching as Bumblebee gave a shudder. Whatever it was made the young scout very uncomfortable. Just the thought chilled him to the core.

"Our bodies carry a high charge," Sideswipe explained, not uncomfortable in the least about the intimate topic. "Bumblebee doesn't have the maturity to handle the charge. If he interfaced with someone it would fry his circuits and stop his spark and the spark of his partner."

"Wha…." Spike asked, looking to Bumblebee and seeing him give another shudder.

"When we overload we discharge a lot of energy," Sideswipe added, watching Bumblebee's cheekplates darken with embarrassment. "Someone who is young can not handle the discharge. Their capacitors have to be properly aligned and able to dissipate a charge and that doesn't happen until their majority, when their interface panels start to come online."

Spikes eyes went as big as saucers. He looked to Sideswipe, his posture rigid. "But if he's captured by the Cons, surely they could… I mean.. wouldn't they? I mean.. "

"Doesn't work that way," Sunstreaker put in, finding it odd that the human went straight to such dark undercurrents. "Bee's safety parameters won't allow him to be touched."

Bumblebee turned even darker, his gaze falling to the floor that he wished would swallow him whole.

"Huh?" Spike asked, now just curious and not offended at the idea of his best friend, a giant mechanical robot, enjoying intimate pleasures.

"When bots are young, they have ingrained programming that keeps them safe from an unwanted interface," Sideswipe said, sending a thrum of laughter over the bond he shared with his twin. It was returned with interest. "Their interface panels are as good as welded to their frames until they are mature, then the latches open and the panel can be put into use."

"Built in anti-theft device,' Sunstreaker said, earning a smirk from his brother.

A distressed whine came from Bumblebee's vocalizer. Spike looked to him in fear, wanting to say or do something to take away whatever it was causing the yellow scout to fret.

It was Sideswipe who stepped in, pulling the small bot against him.

"Sunny wasn't trying to be cruel," Sideswipe said, his spark sending a sting to his twin in reprimand. Sunstreaker scowled but didn't retaliate. "He was just teasing you. You know how he is."

"So that means the Cons can't…. Can't.." Spike asked, motioning to Bumblebee.

"Rape him? No," Sideswipe said, his hand caressing Bumblebee's back in a soothing manner to calm the trembling frame. "If he was susceptible that way, he would never be allowed near the front lines."

"So… you guys really have…. Sex?" Spike asked hesitantly.

"A form of physical intercourse, yes," Sideswipe said with a half shrug. "We have parts similar to your own and many have parts that you would consider of both genders. Remember Spike, we have different definitions of gender than humans."

"How many… _genders_, do you have?" he asked, the knot in his stomach lessening a degree.

"About eight," Sunstreaker said, his brow creased as he tried to remember all the definitions. Two were considered 'extinct' so they were no longer counted.

"Eight?" Spike gasped in shock. "That's so many!"

"Humans have only_ two_," Sideswipe said, releasing Bumblebee as he collected himself. "We find that most strange."

"Never thought of it that way," Spike muttered.

"It's a relief you now know," Sunstreaker said, getting Spike's attention. "The many times we have spoken your name and ruptured something while trying to keep a straight face."

Spike's face turned red again.

"Your creators certainly had a mean streak when they gave you such a designation," Sideswipe laughed.

"Yeah, I'll be talking to dad about having my name changed," Spike said.

"As long as you don't involve our interface components," Sunstreaker said, his lip quirked at the corner in a crooked smile.

Spike burned to shade seventeen.

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**Yes, I know its probably already been done but not by me. :D And I know love is NOT simple, but Sideswipe was just trying to make a point. This was really fun to write. Sorry for any errors. Wheeljack resigned as my beta and Starscream is just as illiterate. **

**This one fought me too. Apparently they just aren't flowing like they regularly do. Perhaps I need another break? I don't know…**

**Please let me know what you thought. Reviews are adored and rubbed in Megatron's nose. ;) **


	83. A Catch In the Side

**A Catch in the Side**

**AN: My muse has sequestered herself under my bed and refuses to come out. This is something that I polished off to fill in until she can be lured out again. If I can't come up with something next week, I'm not going to beat myself up trying to scratch out something that I consider 'subpar'. And if I cant get the creative juices going, then I'm taking a month off to recharge the batteries and coax the muse into cooperation. **

**00000-IIIIII-OOOOOOOO-00000000-IIIIIIIIII-OOOOOOOO OO**

"I'm not going to say it," Sunstreaker said, feeling something brush against his ankle.

"You already have," Sideswipe answered, his voice gruff with annoyance.

"_The seekers will never see us coming_, he says," Sunstreaker recited for the umpteenth time in the past two hours. "_The camouflage paint jobs will allow us to blend into the sky. They'll never expect us."_

Sideswipe grumbled, the loose sand beneath his pedes shifting and causing him to lose his balance on the small sandbar. He sputtered, dropping below the water line in a fit of spray before resurfacing, spouting the water to his twin. Sunstreaker tried to get away from the offending spray but his own balance was lost and he tumbled off the sandbar. He returned to the surface and clambered back onto the thin strip of sand and shifting rock before finding his footing once again.

The water lapped around the two Lamborghinis, adding insult to injury. A seagull glided overhead, its call a mocking cry to the two boiling Autobots who were struggling to stay above water.

"Camouflage paint," Sunstreaker half muttered, half growled. His fist lashed toward his twin but with the water adding friction, Sideswipe was able to duck the blow in time. Sunstreaker missed, overbalanced and went tumbling into the ocean again. He grabbed Sideswipe's foot and jerked, pulling his brother under the water with him.

Sideswipe let out a squawk as he was dragged under. He kicked and flailed, hoping to connect with his twin but Sunstreaker was already finding his footing on the sand once again. When Sideswipe resurfaced, he took a slap to the face.

"Idiot!" Sunstreaker shouted, causing the gull to send out an alarm.

"It was an honest mistake!" Sideswipe shouted back. He rubbed the side of his face as he stared indignantly at his twin. "I just didn't think it through."

"Obviously!" Sunstreaker snapped, sinking lower in the water and glaring over its glassy surface. "Camouflage indeed. Painting ourselves like the humans who hunt and then launch into the sky to attack."

"It's still a good idea," Sideswipe said in defense of his brilliant, but slightly off kilter, idea. "Camouflage would work."

"Not to look like a **forest**! The sky isn't _**green**_ you idiot!" Sunstreaker barked, feeling something rake along his ankles. Whatever was brushing against him was certainly interested in his pedes. He understood why. They **were** quite nice. And now that the black, brown, and green paint was dissolving, his gorgeous golden self was shining through. Thank Primus he used a water based paint for the failed endeavor. He was annoyed he didn't use super glue in Sideswipe's paint job.

"Minor miscalculation," Sideswipe amended, feeling seaweed caress his leg. He stepped aside, trying to get away from the annoying seaweed that slapped at his plating.

Sunstreaker snorted, his mood turning even sourer when he noted the clouds starting to block the sun. Figures. The duo paint themselves to look like forests, attack seekers, who saw them coming, and got ditched in the ocean several miles from shore. They had taken refuge on a small island, its only scrubby palm being ripped up and tossed into the ocean by Sunstreaker's temperamental hand, only to have the tide come in and cover the small sanctuary. Now the water lapped just below their shoulders, storm clouds were forming overhead, and their locator beacons had been disabled by their impromptu oceanic landing. So the rescue crew was going to have to do it the old fashioned way.

It was going to take decades to find the two wayward Lamborghinis.

"I have an idea!" Sideswipe announced, his face alight with stupidity again.

"You're an idiot!" Sunstreaker snapped, glaring daggers. "Stop trying to use what little processing power you were granted on something so complicated as trying to think."

"No, this is a really good idea," Sideswipe said, not perturbed in the least. "I can get my locator beacon active if it can dry out. So I'll climb up onto your shoulders, dry out my systems, then call for help. It's simple!"

"No, you're simple," Sunstreaker said with a flat voice.

"It will work! And if my systems don't dry out in time, and there's a plane, I can signal them," Sideswipe said, convinced of his own genius. Waves lapped against his chest, signaling the brewing storm. "They won't be able to see us if we're submerged. We have a better chance at getting spotted if we're out of the water."

"You're not getting on my shoulders," Sunstreaker said, bristling with the idea of having to elevate his twin out of the foul cold waters. He hated water, especially salt water.

"But I need the height," Sideswipe whined, kicking out at whatever touched his pede. He hated seaweed. He hated the thick driftwood that loomed ominously around them. He had already screamed once about a giant alligator trying to sneak up on him in the water. Sunstreaker had laughed himself silly and made a mental note to fill their quarters with drift wood the next time Sideswipe annoyed him.

"I'll get on **your** shoulders," Sunstreaker said, not wanting to scuff his paint any more than what was going to be necessary.

"But it was my idea!" Sideswipe whined again, glaring at his twin. "I want to be on top."

"Who do you think would have a better chance at gaining attention?" Sunstreaker asked, nodding toward the deep blue surrounding them. "Blood red or bright gold armor on blue ocean?"

Sideswipe took a moment to ponder then grumbled, relenting to allow his brother to climb onto his shoulders. It took some finagling but Sunstreaker was able to find purchase on Sideswipe's shoulders. The gull called overhead, circling low over its potential perch.

Sunstreaker pulled his gun out of subspace and shot it.

Sideswipe flooded their bond with gratitude. He wasn't in the mood to put up with an aerial threat.

Twenty minutes went by before Sideswipe shifted, causing Sunstreaker to frown and grasp his brother's helm for support.

"Stop moving," Sunstreaker snapped, feeling a breeze kick up over the ocean. The storm was getting closer. Waves occasionally came to tickle under Sideswipe's chin, though the general water level seemed to have dropped a couple of inches. The storm was going to be a big one.

Being submerged didn't bother the twins, having no real use for oxygen. But being underwater for an undetermined amount of time while keeping all vents shut down and no cooling ventilation was very uncomfortable. Not to mention that the rise in temp meant that certain delicate systems would be affected. Glitches formed if the heat became too much for the body to take.

"Something's touching my ankle," Sideswipe said, getting a mouthful of sea water as reward. He spit out the offending liquid and twitched, trying to rub one ankle against another to ward off the itch.

"It's the seaweed," Sunstreaker said, having had it to wrap around his own pedes when the island first started to sink beneath the tide.

"It's slimy," Sideswipe said, feeling it slither around his ankle that reminded him of the bots with tentacles on Cybertron. Those mechs always terrified him.

"It lives in water. Of course it's slimy," Sunstreaker said, rolling his optics and grasping his brother's helm as the ruby warrior moved unexpectedly again. "And hold still! My circuits are almost dry!"

"I'm trying," Sideswipe snapped back, wincing when Sunstreaker dug his digits into the edges of his helm.

"I think I can get out a signal," Sunstreaker said, watching as his HUD started to return to normal parameters and not fill his vision with red lines. He knew there was damage and several systems were compromised. Being out of the water had not only helped to dry out his circuits, but he had been able to open his vents and release some of the heat that had built up. Now, his systems were waking up one by one, the danger to their operational function disappearing in vapor.

"Try the comms," Sideswipe said, closing his mouth quickly as a wave came up and tried to gain entry. He narrowed his optics at the surrounding waves, daring them to make another attempt.

"I may only have enough energy for one burst," Sunstreaker said, knowing his reserves were getting low. He didn't have a chance to properly refuel this morning before painting his ingenious brother and himself and being called to action.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Sideswipe asked, noting the waves were starting to gain altitude and courage. One had the audacity to splash into his optics.

"A written invitation," Sunstreaker snapped back, sending the databurst. Static filled his senses for a couple of seconds, the transmission echoing in his audios from the oncoming storm.

"Did it go through?" Sideswipe asked, hearing the resounding _ping_ in his internal comms. A wave came up and slapped his cheek before receding to halfway down his chest. The Autobot sigil peeked across the top of the water like a sprite, watching the world with impish delight.

"I don't know," Sunstreaker admitted, feeling his vents flutter in an attempt to rid themselves of any remaining water. "I think so. But with this storm building, its difficult to say. It could have bounced back our signal or it could have gone through. There's just no tel…."

Sunstreaker's explanation was cut short as Sideswipe scratched at his ankle again. This time a wave decided on a sneak attack and grasped his shoulders, giving him a rumbling shake. Sideswipe overbalanced with his twin's weight and toppled forward, his brother sailing over his head to perform a spectacular face plant into the water. The wave receded, pleased with itself.

Sunstreaker tumbled in the undercurrent, his equilibrium thrown off with the chaotic tossing. He expelled a heavy gust of air, hoping to rid his vents of the unwanted liquid that had slipped inside when he went under. The action stabilized him, allowing him to get a bearing on up and down. And to glare at the guilty pedes of his twin that were a few meters away. Along with an unexpected discovery. With a sneer Sunstreaker fought his way to the surface, spewing water like a fountain and looking for his brother.

Sideswipe let out a squeak upon seeing Sunstreaker's face. He knew what that meant.

Termination.

Sideswipe turned to make a retreat but in the middle of the ocean, there wasn't anywhere to go. He turned in slow motion to face his twin as Sunstreaker took the few steps toward him.

"I love you, Bro," Sideswipe said, giving his most charming look.

It didn't work.

Sunstreaker's arm arched from the water. Before Sideswipe could register the action, something large, slimy and gray slapped him across the face. He sputtered, blinking his optics, trying to center his dizzy world, when Sunstreaker withdrew his hand again. The guilty Autobot recoiled, staring at the object that impacted his face and was startled to find his brother holding a limp and dazed shark by the tail. As Sideswipe zeroed in on the strange object, Sunstreaker lashed out again, planting the hapless animal right between his brother's optics.

"You want to know what's been itching your pedes all this time?" Sunstreaker shouted, arm drawn for another assault.

"Sunny! I .." Sideswipe tried to speak but Sunstreaker lobbed the unconscious animal at his twin.

Beating, berating, emphasizing his words with a slapping shark, Sunstreaker ranted and raged as the building storm. When the Autobots found them half an hour later, it was to find a cowering Sideswipe with Sunstreaker brandishing the remains of his organic weapon. The shark's skeleton made a grinding noise as it scratched across Sideswipe's frame, the pieces falling off and drifting away like flotsam. Sideswipe made a mad escape toward Jetfire's hovering form, Sunstreaker hot on his tailpipes.

When both were inside, Sunstreaker threw the remains of the shark at his twin. The carcass bounced off of Sideswipe and landed with a _splat _at Prowl's pedes. Prowl sighed, a door wing twitching.

It was just a typical day in the Autobot ranks.

**00000-IIIIII-OOOOOOOO-00000000-IIIIIIIIII-OOOOOOOO OO**

Reviews would be loved and let my muse know that she is still needed.


	84. Sun Flare

Sun Flare

Anyone miss me?

Requested by **Aura Black Chan. **I hope this is what you had in mind! Sorry it took so long to flesh out something for ya.

*SEE AUTHOR NOTES AT BOTTOM*

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"Deactivate them," Sunstreaker growled as soon as he stepped over the threshold of Prime's office.

"Excuse me?" Prime asked, looking up from his datapad. It was times like this he wondered why he kept an open door policy. "Who are you talking about?"

"The Dinobots," Sunstreaker said, stalking like golden death toward Prime. Sunstreaker's optics were dark, narrowed, frame tense in suppressed rage. "Deactivate them. Now."

"On what grounds?" Prime asked, putting down his stylus and looking at Sunstreaker with a curious expression.

"They're more trouble than they're worth," Sunstreaker said, flinching at his own words. His gaze turned steely as he bore directly into Prime's spark. "Give the order to deactivate them. You are the only one who can."

"Why would I do such a thing?" Prime asked. The Dinobots had proven to be the heavy metal back up the Autobots needed to countermand the Triple Changer threats, at least when they were fighting _with_ the Autobots and not _against_ them. Their loyalties wavered from hour to hour.

"They're… stupid," Sunstreaker said, hiding the wince at the lameness of his statement.

"They are _immature_," Prime corrected, keeping his tone even. Just why the golden menace was so insistent was a mystery. Sure the Dinobots had shown him up on a couple of occasions, but they had done that to the entire Autobot forces at one point or another. To bring the matter up, now, after nearly a year of activation… it seemed out of place.

"They'll never mature," Sunstreaker spat. "They're processors weren't built for such growth. Ratchet admitted they don't have the same type of processing power as Cybertron built."

"So, because they lack the added augmentations that would allow them to grow, you think I should have them… terminated?" Prime asked.

But he didn't want to provoke Sunstreaker. Prime may have strength to rival Megatron but when Sunstreaker went into a berserk frame of mind, no one could contain him. Just as that thought crossed his processor, Sideswipe walked in, standing on the inside of the open door. His expression was thoughtful, his gaze focused on his brother as he was trying to solve a partially difficult puzzle. Apparently, whatever Sunstreaker was feeling was filtering through, causing Sideswipe to investigate.

"I didn't say terminate but that **would** be the best option," Sunstreaker said, feeling his brother's spark close by. He could tell Sideswipe was worried about him, but this was important. Sideswipe would understand. Prime would see Sunstreaker's point. Everyone would see it and put a stop to it. They had to.

"Termination is not an option," Prime said with a stern snap. He rose from his chair, leaning on the desk that separated him from Sunstreaker. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

"They're stupid and they cause more problems than assistance during disasters," Sunstreaker said, copying Prime's pose and staring him down. The duo looked like they were in an old war movie, arguing over a displayed map of enemy territory.

"They can't help their awkwardness. But it is something they are trying to overcome," Prime said, not backing down from the golden warrior. "Given time and supplies, Ratchet is confident he can alter their processors to allow them a regular developmental growth rate."

"Doesn't matter," Sunstreaker said. Face set in determination. "Deactivate them until after the war."

"Why would I do such a thing?"

"Because it's the right thing to do."

"Really? Care to elaborate?" Prime asked. He wasn't going to back down and relent to Sunstreaker's temper. Well, now that Sideswipe was in the room, too. He didn't want to admit it, but sometimes he questioned Sunstreaker's loyalty.

"They cause trouble," Sunstreaker said, feeling a pang of affection in his spark from his twin. He ignored it. "They cause destruction and mayhem and are uncontrollable."

"Titles given to you and your bother on many occasions," Prime argued, rising to his full height and surveying the shorter mech with a critical optic. They were almost a head difference. "I refuse to allow either of _you_ to be deactivated due to such claims. Why would I alter my standing now with the Dinobots?"

"Because if you don't deactivate them they'll end up terminated anyway," Sunstreaker said, fists forming as his ire rose to dangerous levels. Sideswipe frowned and took a step closer to his twin. "It would be kinder to terminate them **now** and not make them suffer."

"I will do no such thing!" Prime growled, matching Sunstreaker's vehemence. Sideswipe's action had not gone unnoticed by Prime. "They have done nothing to warrant such a penalty."

"They don't **need **to do something to warrant it," Sunstreaker snarled, his fists slamming into Prime's desk and leaving indentations. His optics darkened in rage as he leaned over the minimal barrier. "If you are truthful about not letting Cybertron fall back on the old ways, then you will have the Dinobots deactivated."

"Deactivating innocents just because you believe in a past transgression is something…" Prime started, but Sunstreaker's anger had reached its tipping point.

"You're just as corrupt as your predecessors!" Sunstreaker yelled, drowning out Prime's voice.

"I am not corrupt!" Prime bellowed, refusing to back down. "_How_ **dare **you..."

"You're no better than the antiquated relics that started this war in the first place!" Sunstreaker snapped.

"That is enough!" Prime thundered.

Sunstreaker wasn't to be deterred. If anything, the resistance was what he needed to fuel his argument.

"You are no different than the monsters who enslaved _**us**_," Sunstreaker spat, his face twisted in disgust as he looked over Prime's much larger bulk, as if surveying him for the first time. Sideswipe was standing at Sunstreaker's shoulder, his own frame tensed for action. "Building warriors for your _entertainment_."

"I have condoned no such thing!" Prime said, his voice angry and tinged with impatience.

"Bullshit," Sunstreaker spat, using the human term and knowing how much it riled up Prime to hear vulgarity. "You are no better than the senate and those tower brats that thought a mechs life was for sport and entertainment."

"What would make you think such thing?" Prime asked, sounding hurt that he was to be put in the same category as those vile politicians. "I have fought against such tyranny my entire existence as Prime! I fight for _everyone_. To make everyone equal."

"Then tell me, oh wise Prime" Sunstreaker sneered, injecting venom into his voice. "Explain how you are so different than your predecessors when you build soldiers for combat."

"Soldiers are scarce," Prime said as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yes, they are," Sunstreaker said, "But you did the exact same thing as the senate and tower mechs."

"How?" Prime countered.

"You built soldiers for war without even stopping to consider their **lives**," Sunstreaker said, glaring in contempt at the mech he once believed to the harbinger of the second golden age. "You allowed bots to be built to fight _your_ battles! You may not put them in an arena and charge an admission, but you certainly send them blindly to the Decepticons, and you admit yourself that they are not cognizant adults!"

"Entertainment and war are two completely different things," Prime said. He couldn't stop the stalling of his engine as Sunstreaker's motives started to sink into his processor. And the Matrix was humming with activity.

"War, entertainment, destruction, they are all the same, it's just the change in spectator," Sunstreaker said, his voice losing its vehemence. He looked sickened and defeated as he continued, "I have fought for the _entertainment_ of the crowd. The _glory_ of a master. The promise of **credits** and **freedom**." Sunstreaker's voice turned icy cold, with a cruel, biting edge as he fought back the emotional tide trying to rise in his spark. "Mechs like you are all alike and it makes me sick to think that I willingly agreed to your campaign."

Prime sat down heavily, his hydraulics giving out in his legs and sending him crashing into the cushioned chair. The full magnitude of Sunstreaker's words hit him like Megatron and Motormaster combined.

Sunstreaker wasn't trying to deactivate the Dinobots out of a vendetta or hatred. He was trying to... _**protect **_them. Protect them from being turned into what he and Sideswipe had become when placed in a similar situation.

"They're not us," Sunstreaker said, his voice sounding supplicating. "They don't have the processing power to learn and adapt. They'll get themselves slagged before they have a chance to grow. This is a situation they can't escape and they don't have the skills to keep themselves, or us, alive."

Prime sat, dumbfounded, his optics shuttering slow and uneven as his processor caught up.

Sideswipe stood open mouthed, staring at his twin. He understood where Sunstreaker was coming from, but slag if he had ever made such a connection before. The Dinobots were so young, by any species standards, and yet they had been forced into the front lines of a war they knew nothing about. When Sunstreaker put it into that context, Sideswipe found his tank threatening to rebel. He never realized the youth of the Dinobots, and how easily the Autobots had placed the younglings on the front lines without considering their age and inexperience. Most forget that they are young, the false assumption helped along by their sheer size. But size doesn't mean intelligence and maturity.

"Don't make them fight. Deactivate them and save them the agony of a painful termination," Sunstreaker said, his optics boring directly into Prime's own.

Prime's posture instantly snapped rigid. Without warning he stood from his chair and within a few strides, was gone from his office. Curious, the twins followed, Sideswipe a step behind his brother who was flooding their link with worry and relief. That relief quickly turned to annoyance as Prime's destination was the med bay. Both made it through the doors in time to find Ratchet and Wheeljack in Ratchet's office.

"Ratchet, Wheeljack, I want you to finish the augmentations to the Dinobot's processors," Prime said as he entered the room. "This is to take priority, regardless of circumstance."

Wheeljack hid his frown behind his blast mask. He knew that his current projects were getting placed on hold until Prime gave his authorization for them to continue.

"Might I ask, why is this a priority now? A year after their activation?" Ratchet asked, his optics narrowed in suspicion. He had been petitioning for the Dinobots to have upgrades but time and resources were not available. Now, out of the blue, Prime was giving the green light to allow the Dinobots the chance to upgrade and potentially grow into functioning adults.

"It has come to my attention that we, myself especially, have become negligent in their education and have overlooked a very vital piece of information," Prime said.

Ratchet's optics caught the blur of red and gold and had a feeling who was behind this change of spark, but he wasn't sure to the motive.

"And that would be?"

"That the Dinobots are but children, and I have blindly sent them to the front lines without proper thought to their safety." Prime looked down to the floor, shame burning from his frame. How could he have been so blind? He sighed a heavy gust through his vents and looked to Ratchet. "I want their augmentations to be your top priority, and then I wish to assign mechs to teach the Dinobots what they need to learn to be Autobots, Cybertronians," Prime paused and looked to a stunned Sunstreaker. "Friends and allies."

"We can teach them some fighting techniques." Sideswipe offered, liking the idea of teaching his skills to others. He was especially anxious to teach the Dinobots the proper way to jump on seekers. Sideswipe's meta was active with all kinds of hilarity and mayhem that the Dinobots could bring to the sky dwellers.

Ratchet looked to Wheeljack, who was smiling behind his mask. There came the thundering of heavy feet and like a growling mass of disorganized metal, the Dinobots appeared in the med bay.

"You, Wheeljack, call for Dinobots?" Grimlock asked, stalking up to the inventor and lowering himself so he was eye level with his co-creator.

"Yes, Grimlock. I wanted to inform you that Prime has agreed to the augmenting of your processors to allow you to learn and absorb information via Cybertronian cerebral uplinks." Wheeljack offered an affectionate pat to the snout that was the width of his body.

"What that mean?" Grimlock asked, withdrawing to look at the assembled bots. His eyes narrowed at Optimus. He still held a rebellious spark when it came to the Autobot leader who only called upon the Dinobots to fight the battles he couldn't win. Grimlock thought that was a sign of poor leadership.

"It means that with Ratchet's help, each of you will be fitted with updated processors and software that will allow you to learn and mature." Wheeljack explained, looking over his creations with a paternal optic.

"We…. Learn?" Grimlock asked, his head canting to the side like a giant puppy curious to a new noise.

"Yes, you will be able to learn. And once you learn, you can do anything you want." Wheeljack motioned to the other Autobots. "You can be an inventor, like me. Or a medic like Ratchet."

"No! One maniac throwing wrenches is enough!" Sideswipe corrected, earning a hateful stare from Ratchet.

Wheeljack went on as if not interrupted. "Or if you want, you can train others with hand to hand combat. Learn to be pilots or engineers or a scientist like Perceptor."

The Dinobots were silent, taking in the information. Swoop looked over to Prime, his expression naïve as always.

"We no longer fight with you?" he asked.

"You can when you learn some fighting techniques," Prime explained. "It's recently been brought to my attention that none of you were given the _choice_ to fight. You were **told **that was your function, and placed on the front lines, expecting to do a job that many trained soldiers would have balked. For this oversight, I do apologize."

"You no want us?" Grimlock asked, his teeth shining in the light and looking very much like an overgrown metallic shark.

"Yes, we want you, but we want you to be able to grow up," Prime said, stepping forward and giving Grimlock a look that meant he was supposed to transform.

Grimlock gave a low growl but obliged, taking a robotic mode and standing before Prime.

"You will learn, and in time, you may also choose to become officers, like myself and my staff," Prime said.

Grimlock frowned, staring at Optimus as if never seeing him before. It was Swoop who stepped forward, transforming and regarding the Autobot leader with bright blue optics.

"We can… be as smart… as… you?" Swoop asked hesitantly.

"Eventually," Prime nodded in agreement. "You just need the opportunity to mature and learn."

The Dinobots looked pleased at the information. Swoop flexed his wings, his optics going even brighter. Slag's tail curled into a happy little 'Q'. Sludge took a step toward the bots and headbutted Prime as a show of affection, but underestimated his own strength and sent the semi flying through the air. Prime crashed into the wall and slid down the metal with a sickening screech that made everyone wince.

"Sunstreaker! You are to teach the Dinobots the limits of their strength," Prime said, pulling himself unsteadily to his feet. Sludge looked crestfallen, like he expected Prime to beat him for such a transgression.

"Me, Sludge… sorry," he said, lowering his long neck in submission.

Prime smiled, despite the slight limp to his left side and gave a soft pat to the Brontosaurs head in the same manner he saw Wheeljack do to Grimlock.

"It was an accident," Prime said, wondering how he could have missed the childishness of the Dinobots. Sludge relaxed under Prime's ministrations, his eyes drooping closed. Prime turned to Sunstreaker and asked, "Will you agree to furthering the Dinobot's education?"

Sunstreaker glanced to the Dinobot's, all of whom were looking pleased with the prospect of learning and joining the Autobot ranks in a more 'official' capacity. Well, Sludge was currently being petted into a slumbering lump, his head going to Prime's shoulder and resting. The weight made the hydraulics in Prime's legs give a hiss as they bore the added poundage. Prime continued to stroke along Sludge's cheek, and around his head, close to his audial indentations.

Slowly, Sunstreaker gave a nod. The Dinobots were to be granted the chance to learn, and grow, and have the opportunity to choose whether or not they wanted to fight, instead of being forced into it by someone who didn't see them as sentient beings. It was a step in the right direction. And now that Sunstreaker thought about it, he felt guilty for what he said to Prime.

Optimus was nothing like his predecessors. Had he been like them, Sunstreaker would be facing a firing squad and the Dinobots would remain childish oafs with no chance at an alternative existence.

"Ratchet, how long until you can do their upgrades?" Prime asked, nudging Sludge so the Brontosaurus would wake up and Prime could return to his duties. Sludge gave a sleepy rumble that shook Prime's entire body before he lifted his head, craning it high in a stretch and towering above everyone else.

"Should be ready by the end of the week," Ratchet said with a smile. He had been planning such a thing for awhile. He had most of the materials already, but the more intricate circuit boards would require a microscope's touch. Between Ratchet, Wheeljack and Perceptor, the Dinobots would be ready for their upgrades in record time.

"I will assign Prowl the task of allotting duties and classes between the Dinobots and assorted mechs," Prime said before looking to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. "I would appreciate it if you could also teach the Dinobots some leisurely activities that don't require high grade consumption."

Sideswipe looked disappointed, but Sunstreaker nodded. "I can teach them art."

"Swoop learn to… paint?" Swoop asked hopefully. The other Dinobots perked up instantly. They had witnessed Sunstreaker's skills with a brush.

"Very good," Prime said. He looked to Ratchet and Wheeljack, and as he turned to leave, he saw the indentation he had left in the wall from Sludge's nudge of affection. "And make sure that gets fixed."

Prime took his leave to assign Prowl the new duties and to get some volunteers before Prowl had to dishearten sparks and assign them anyway. The twins followed him out, Sideswipe prattling about the different techniques he wanted to teach the Dinobots and the large, open space that was going to be needed for his lessons.

"Yeah, right," Ratchet snickered, looking at the spot where Prime had impacted.

Ratchet had decided to keep the Prime's impression on the wall. There was a human expression that stated, 'put a mark on the wall' when something monumental occurred.

And Ratchet believed this qualified.

**{{_}} {{-}} {{_}} {{-}} {{_}} {{-}} {{_}} {{-}} {{_}} {{-}} {{_}} {{-}}{{_}} {{-}} {{_}} {{-}}**

My muse got preoccupied by string and I couldn't get her to focus. On another note, go check out "Prime Cuts: Prelude to Maladyne Murders" on Amazon and support the author that even acknowledges this site. There's a link in my profile... if the site doesn't block it. I expect to hear good things and be warned... "I" will be quizzing you, my readers! Muahhhahhaa~

PS.- My old comp couldn't handle the stress I was putting on it so I bought a new one. And in less than a month, the new one had to go into the shop 7 times. The IE keeps having seizures and they said it may be a bad OS. I'm taking it sometime this week to exchange for a new one.

I plan on continuing this series, but with work and real life obligations, I'm going to be doing just the regular Tuesday posts like before. and I kinda figure that ya'll will be mad at me for taking two months off. I am sorry. :"( Just know that I didnt forget about you, or this story, and I was able to jot down little notes for upcoming story ideas that I can work on when I find that elusive thing known as Free Time.

* hugs and love to all *

PJ


	85. Other Side of the Door

Other Side of the Door

Yes, I'm back. Nobody panic! *sneak peek of another chapter if you know where that's from*

IE hates this site, so I'm having to do ALL interactions by using Firefox.

THANK YOU Grace for the reviews. I do strive to flex my writing muscles and try a little bit of everything. I have about 30 pages of one shots and ideas of my own to use, with a little smattering of requests left over from the last time I allowed them. Until my own thoughts/ideas get dwindled down, I'm not opening up the requests because I have such a time trying to think of something for someone else that sometimes I miss the focus of the story/idea.

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"And when they least expect it, I will initiate my nefarious plan and take over the world!" Sideswipe cackled, holding up his fist in triumph.

Red Alert happened to be walking by the door at the moment and overheard the statement. With wide, fearful optics, he leaned against the door, his audios tuned in to catch more of the conversation. He always knew the twins were no good. And now, after millennia of wondering, he was finally going to get the goods and have them terminated.

"And if it doesn't work?" Sunstreaker asked.

"I have a back up plan," Sideswipe said, his optics shining with happiness at his own ingenuity. "To conquer the world, one must have the properly laid plans."

Red Alert commed Prowl, demanding his immediate action against the twins. With annoyance that wasn't usually found in the SIC's emotional range, Prowl left his station and stalked toward the private quarters.

"Well, corniness aside, and the fact that the Decepticons have been trying such a thing for hundreds of vorns, what makes you think that you, of all mechs, will do the impossible?" Sunstreaker asked, reclining in his chair.

"Ah, there is a small thing the Cons lack," Sideswipe said, a knowing look in his optics that made Sunstreaker roll his. "They lack patience."

"And you're abundant on patience?" Sunstreaker asked with skepticism.

"I possess more than the entire Decepticon forces," Sideswipe said proudly.

Prowl appeared around the corner, finding Red Alert plastered against the door like Sideswipe's last magnetizing prank. Red Alert's optics were wide as he motioned with a frantic servo for the SIC to come listen. Prowl did as commanded, his audios picking up the last of the conversation.

"… strategically placed ammo and the right sprinkling of chaos is all that is needed," Sideswipe was saying.

Prowl's audios weren't as attuned so it was difficult to make out the words.

"And you're sure this will work?" Sunstreaker asked, dubiously.

"I will rule the world!" Sideswipe declared, punching the armrest to emphasize his point. "None will be spared my wrath!"

Red Alert jerked on Prowl's arm, his optics wide in an expression of 'see, what did I tell you?', a spark flying from his helm.

Red Alert stared at Prowl, expected him to do something, but the SIC merely stood, helm cocked, listening. Well, if Prowl wasn't going to do his duty, then he would just have to do it for him. Without invitation Red Alert grabbed the door handle and forced the door open.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were sitting in lounge chairs. When the door was forced open both jumped from their seats, their bodies tense, ready for action. They noticed Prowl and relaxed slightly.

"What is going on here?" Red Alert asked in a stern tone.

"Nothing," Sideswipe said, looking to the SIC with a confused expression.

"I heard you talking," Red Alert said, cornering the mechs with their lie. "What are your intentions toward the humans?"

"Intentions?" Sideswipe asked, looking to his brother who scowled at the Security mech in hostility. Sunstreaker didn't like his personal space to be invaded by uninvited guests.

"Do you intend on harming humans and taking over their planet?" Prowl asked, hoping to assuage Red Alert's curiosity before the situation got out of hand. Just as a precaution, he kept his comms open so all mechs could hear over the frequencies. If the twins decided to terminate either one of them, and he had no doubts as to their ability, then he at least wanted others to know who had committed the murder.

"Were you listening at the door?" Sunstreaker asked in a low, modulated voice that meant he was pissed.

"We were rehearsing," Sideswipe said, drawing Prowl's attention to himself. "There's a local channel that's looking for someone to do late night interviews. Like with celebrities."

"And you just _happened_ to practice by citing your desires to rule the world?" Prowl asked, optic ridge cocking. The whole thing sounded ludicrous. Which fit perfectly with the twins.

Jazz was laughing over comms.

"It was a practice run," Sideswipe said with a smile. He pointed to the corner where a video camera was poised. "We haven't started to roll film yet. We wanted to get comfortable and I thought I could pretend to be a super villain."

Prowl noted the camera pointed to the two lounge chairs and to his utter amazement, the wall behind was painted in a scene of old Cybertron. It did resemble a make shift studio for late night interviewers.

"Hey, maybe we should film this and send it to the Cons!" Sideswipe said, looking to Sunstreaker with jubilant expectation. "That way they can see how stupid they look and sound. Especially Meggy!"

Red Alert stood in the door way, his frame vibrating with built up fury.

"They're lying!" Red Alert snapped.

Sunstreaker's frame became even tenser, his optics boring into the spastic face of the Security mech. Sideswipe took the initiative and stood in front of his twin, his expression going to laughable jocularity to seriousness in a spark beat.

"We were rehearsing for an audition," Sideswipe said, his tone deep, rumbling, borderline threatening. His optics were boring into Red Alert's. "You had no right to listen in to our conversation, barge into our quarters uninvited, or make accusations that are not only unfounded, but insulting. While we are in our quarters we are free to play whatever games we so desire, and if you open your vocalizer with such vile accusations, you will regret it."

"They threatened me!" Red Alert squawked, looking to Prowl and pointing to the twins. "You heard them! They threatened me!"

"But they are correct," Prowl said, feeling an acid churn up from his tank from the absurdity that the twins were in the right. For once. "You are violating their personal quarters and making unfounded accusations."

"But, you heard them!" Red Alert cried, another spark erupting from his helm.

"Do you honestly think that if they planned on overthrowing a planet they would be stupid enough to video tape it?" Prowl asked, giving the Security mech an exasperated look. He kept his own thoughts on the matter to himself.

"They could!" Red Alert argued. He didn't see Sunstreaker's sudden lurch in his direction, nor the arrest in momentum by Sideswipe's bracing frame.

"Get out," Sideswipe said, looking directly at Red Alert. "And if you come in here again, I'll have you brought up on charges."

"You… you c… you can't do that!" Red Alert sputtered.

"Sideswipe is correct," Prowl said, wanting to purge. This must be what the humans referred to as tasting bile. It was very unpleasant. "They are off duty and in their personal quarters. They are protected from potential harassment like any other mech during their off hours."

Red Alert made to protest but Prowl grabbed him and steered him toward the door.

"I suggest you have Ratchet to check your systems," Prowl said, pushing Red Alert through the door. "I believe you are about to have a systems crash and it would be wise to have Ratchet prepare a sedative."

Without looking back, Prowl escorted Red Alert to med bay. Sideswipe shut the door behind the two officers, turning to share a look at his twin. Sunstreaker was still fuming, so to vent the anger, Sideswipe allowed his twin to be the raving lunatic in the interview.

As Red Alert was helped to med bay, he grasped Prowl's arm, looking into the serene face of his commanding officer.

"They're up to something,' Red Alert panted, another spark dancing around his helm. "I just know it. They are up to something and when we lest expect it, they'll terminate us all!"

"I will keep an optic on them" Prowl said, omitting the fact that he already kept an optic on the two. He had a private uplink to Red's security feeds but he didn't need to worry the mech over it right now. He'd have a full system's glitch. Then Ratchet would beat Prowl's aft into the floor. And make it look like an accident. Again.

"You will?" Red Alert asked in a faint voice, his optics dimming. He was fading fast.

"You have my promise," Prowl said, helping the white Lamborghini into the med bay, where Ratchet was already in full temper over Wheeljack having melted a telephone to his chest plates.

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Prowl took to wandering around the ARK, his attention partially engrossed in a datapad. He ventured down the corridors, pretended to check systems and access panels, his attention as ever consumed by the datapad. No one guessed his true intent. On the fifth day since Red Alert's latest glitch, Prowl was wandering down the corridor to the private quarters when he heard voices from inside the twins' room. Both were off duty, by request, so Prowl pretended to search for an access panel near their door. It was hard to make out the words, but he was able to follow along.

"Will you hold still?" Sunstreaker snapped in irritable fashion.

"I'm trying! Hurry up already!" Sideswipe griped, sounding strained.

"This takes timing and careful coordination!"

"Only because you're so anal!"

"I am not!"

"Fact!" Sideswipe snapped. "Now hurry up. I'm getting a cramp!"

"Cramp all you want, I'm going as fast as I can!"

"Next time, we're doing this my way!"

"Frag no! Last time we did it your way, I got stuck and thought for sure you were going to dent my armor!" Sunstreaker retorted.

"I wasn't that rough, you big baby!"

"I limped for a week!"

"Only because you don't exercise proper control and flexibility to prepare." Sideswipe taunted in a sing song voice.

"I'll show you control and flexibility!" Sunstreaker snarled.

There was the ensuing tussle, which lead to a desk being smashed, several cubes of high grade exploding from the impact of a falling lamp. Shouts, thumps, bangs, and a plethora of curses that would have made Ratchet grab a notepad.

Prowl opened the door to find the twins in a tangle of limbs, fists punching so fast they were primary colored comets. Legs kicked in a matching blur.

"What is going on here?" Prowl demanded. A wide sheet was displayed on the floor with multicolors and indicators for hands and feet that was quickly pulled into the tornado and ripped into shreds. His inquiry was met with violent threats from the two oblivious mechs. Prowl sighed and closed the door, vowing to have a talk with the miscreants. Whenever they got released from med bay.

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The next week Prowl pretended to be checking the ventilation systems with Jazz for possible incursion. He was measuring all ducts and calculating possible strategic placement of such ductwork and where it may lead. Several lead into the juncture of Prime's personal quarters and though Prowl meant it as a reason to patrol around the twins' room, he did make legitimate notations about correcting the problem. On his third pass by the twins' door, he heard their voices. He paused, leaning closer. He knew Red Alert was probably watching and perceived him to be keeping true to his word. So, Prowl wouldn't be ratted out by the paranoid mech. Jazz came around the corner and saw the other black and white entranced by the solid orange door that bore many dents. None of them resultant of the crash. Jazz walked up, earning a shushing gesture from Prowl as he listened in. With a shrug Jazz adopted the same posture, listening to the conversation behind the door.

"This isn't going to work." Sideswipe singsonged.

"Sure it will."

"It's not going to fit. The parts don't match."

"Then I'll make them match."

"I painfully decline the offer," Sideswipe said, sounding fearful.

"You don't have a choice." Sunstreaker pointed out.

"Shut up and get to it already." Sideswipe whined.

"I have to go slow. I don't want to damage you." Sunstreaker said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You're already killing me. Just put it in and be quick about it."

"And if I get hurt in the process?" Sunstreaker asked.

"That would be a bonus."

"You fragger!"

The sound of tumbling mechs echoed down the corridor. Prowl paused, exchanging a curious look with Jazz, who only shrugged. Sighing in exasperation, Prowl opened the door to the twins' quarters and found the duo pummeling each other into oblivion.

The floor was littered with model cars and acrylic paints. As the twins rolled around in their assorted collections, pieces glued themselves to the unfortunate bodies, adhering in a macabre pattern of disassembled body parts. A perfect duplicate of Sideswipe's Lamborghini Countach alt mode met an unfortunate end thanks to Sunstreaker's aft smashing it into a thousand shards.

Prowl sent a comm. to Ratchet and closed the door on the bedlam, knowing he'd be dealing with the fallout when the twins recovered. Jazz was shaking his head at the antics behind the closed door and started his detailed report on the numerous ways he could infiltrate the inner workings of the ARK.

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Two weeks of conflicting shifts and Prowl rotated the assignments in a very precise order to where the twins wouldn't be off duty without him. Then he was found roaming the halls, now using the excuse that it was Ratchet's orders he vacate his office else he be put on medical leave for exhaustion. Ratchet had found it suspicious, knowing that even when he _did_ put Prowl on medical leave, the Praxian was still found with work filled datapads in his quarters. It was odd Prowl was now active around the base, but as he started to leave his office to attend maintenance issues, Ratchet couldn't complain.

Prowl glanced to his datapad, noting that the main cooling system ran parallel with the twins' quarters. He was silently thanking Primus that Wheeljack's quarters were on the other side of the ship, when he heard voices coming from behind the infamous door.

"This sucks." Sideswipe pouted.

"It wouldn't if you held still."

"Why did I let you talk me into this again?"

"Because I promised to get you overenergized later." Sunstreaker said, staring with an artistic eye at the scene before him.

"Oh, right." Sideswipe said, smiling and allowing a lecherous grin to spread across his face.

"Lush."

"Slagging right."

"Don't move or it will fall off." Sunstreaker warned.

"I think I crimped a wire."

"Suffer through it. You're a big mech."

"True."

Prowl opened the door to find Sideswipe posing on a chaise, his body lax and inviting, a Lamborghini logo resting in a suggestive place. When he noticed Prowl, he jolted, knocking his logo askew and nearly falling off the velvet covered chaise. He clutched a strip of velvet to his chest, staring with wide optics to the intruder as if he was just caught doing something embarrassing.

Sunstreaker was standing behind a camera, rolls of film littering the floor and an ad for a local car dealership offering a year's free detailing for the best picture. Sunstreaker stood up, turning in exasperation to stare at the person who barged in and ruined his shot.

"Problem?" Sunstreaker asked upon seeing Prowl's dumbfounded expression.

"Carry…. Carry on," Prowl said, closing the door with a snap. He should stop doing that. He was becoming more and more scarred.

But he just couldn't seem to help himself.

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A week later Prowl was joining Ironhide on a survey of the halls, searching for compromised sections.

"Oh, Chet!" a shrill voice came from the twins' quarters.

"No, Esmeralda, you have betrayed me!" came a deep rumbling voice.

Ironhide paused mid-step, his helm slow to turn toward the closed door. A crease of worry etched its way across his face in slow motion. Prowl didn't bother to pause. Instead, he grasped the door and threw it open, revealing the twins in full glory.

Sideswipe was standing with a wide purple cape draped across his shoulders. A blonde wig hung to his shoulders and was accented with a circlet of gold that caught the overhead light. Numerous badges and medals hung from his decorated chest plates. His olfactory sensor was turned to the ceiling in a perfect imitation of Mirage.

"But, my love!" Sunstreaker crooned, reading from a book.

Sunstreaker looked up from the pages and instantly stilled. A long gossamer gown of blood red flowed to his ankles. A wealth of black hair adorned his head, a circlet of silver resting among the fake strands.

Without breaking the atmosphere, Sideswipe looked down his olfactory sensor to the two officers standing in the door and said, "Do you mind? We're right in the middle of rehearsals."

Prowl offered a nod before muttering, "Carry on," and shut the door.

Ironhide turned to Prowl as they returned to their hunt for compromised sections of bulkhead. "What the slag goes on in this place when no one's looking?"

"Better left to the imagination, Ironhide," Prowl deadpanned, feeling a twitch to a doorwing that meant a crash would be in Prowl's future.

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The meeting was called for all personnel to attend. It was spur of the moment and made bots wonder why such a call was made, disrupting schedules. The twins exited their quarters, Sunstreaker taking the rare lead. He looked angrier than normal. It was apparent why when the duo entered the command center. Sunstreaker stomped to the opposite side and leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed, face set in defiant lines.

"I called you all here to announce that the humans are planning an unexpected visit this afternoon," Prime said, looking around to his assembled mechs.

"Why didn't they say something earlier?" Jazz grumbled, having just set up a poker game for the morning shift. His gaze drifted around his fellow Autobots until his gaze fell on Sideswipe. Then it froze.

"Apparently it is a last minute change in itinerary of foreign diplomats," Prime said, his gaze traveling over the disheartened faces to land on Jazz's statuesque form. Finding it curious that Jazz was holding still so long without a system's lock up, Prime followed the saboteurs gaze. And stared.

Several mechs noticed their leader's drifting attention and followed his gaze. They stepped back, putting distance between themselves and Sideswipe, who was copying his brother's pose from the opposite side of the room. His face was just as dark and violent as his twin's.

Prowl took it upon himself to break the spell.

"Sideswipe, why do you have feathers sticking out of your aft?" Prowl asked, feeling a burning along his circuits.

Sideswipe turned, displaying the dozen or so feather dusters that were wedged, glued, and taped to his aft, giving him a downy bottom.

"I was feeling broody," Sideswipe deadpanned, giving his aft a little wiggle. He was delighted when none of the dusters came free.

"Well, human dignitaries are making a visit this afternoon, so go pluck yourself," Prowl said, motioning toward the door in dismissal.

"Alright," Sideswipe said, pushing off from the bulkhead and turning to give Prowl a good view of his aft as he grinned over his shoulder, "You wanna watch?"

"Do you want to spend time in the brig?" Prowl asked, finger pointing at the door.

"Don't you mean the coop?" Sideswipe taunted before disappearing through the door. Sunstreaker followed a few seconds later.

It took a moment for the mechs to gather their wits and continue the discussion on getting the ARK ready for human visitors. It was voted unanimously that the twins should remain in their quarters, especially if Sideswipe couldn't get all the feather dusters from his aft. That would be too difficult to explain and the Autobots didn't think it was wise to show the humans how defective a processor can be. They didn't want to mentally scar the humans. Too bad most of the bots were already suffering from processor glitches and mental breakdowns courtesy of their teammates.

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The SIC was still prowling the halls and thanks to his constant fussing and sudden interest in base design, security, and efficiency, the base was better protected than Red Alert's multiple suggestions. Not to mention the power drain had been cut by thirty percent and the officer's quarters were now secured by a ninety eight percent effective defense system.

Every afternoon, and no one noticed the correlation of when the twins were scheduled off shift together, but Prowl was found ambling through the base. His datapads were always in hand and twice he found errors that had escaped his previous exam.

He was glaring at the screen when he turned the corner for his familiar path around the halls when voices caught his attention. He paused, stepping toward the all too familiar door and listened.

"Hold still."

"I'm trying but it itches." Sideswipe whined.

"You'll get used to it."

"I hate to itch."

"Don't scratch!" Sunstreaker snapped, sounding ready to beat his brother.

"I can't help it!" Sideswipe shouted back, his anger coloring his voice. "It itches!"

"Stop touching it or it will fall off."

"You've said that before."

"And you didn't listen then, either." Sunstreaker reminded his twin.

Prowl frowned. The twins were up to something and he had to find out. If he didn't, there would be repercussions later. He was going to catch the twins at their plotting. It had been over a month since Sideswipe had pulled a scheme and he was long overdue. Prowl grabbed the doorknob and threw open the door.

Sideswipe was standing on the desk, a green sheet draped around his body toga style. His left arm held a datapad while his right hand held a flashlight. A circlet of green spikes was upon his head.

Sunstreaker looked up from his tailoring of the toga and turned to give a death glare to the one who interrupted Sideswipe's costume fitting. The mech was difficult to pin down, let alone made to stand for hours on end while his brother fixed the costume he was going to wear for this year's Halloween party with the humans.

Prowl frowned and closed the door, leaving the twins in silence. He promptly scheduled himself for a full medical and psychological evaluation with Ratchet and Smokescreen.

"Why does he keep doing that?" Sideswipe asked, staring at the place where the black and white officer had stood framed in their doorway.

Sunstreaker offered a shrug before answering.

"Beats me. The mech is weird."

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Gosh! Does anyone else realize that this story is near 1500 reviews?! Dude! I never thought I'd get so many! Well, never thought I'd have sooo many ideas out of just a random mention via comms and now, I've written so many of these little shorts, I'm just STUNNED at not only the quantity produced (half I don't even remember!) but just the overwhelming positive responses I've received.

so, THANK YOU to all who read and enjoy my drivels. I hope you continue to stick with me through my madness. :D


	86. Wanton Streak

WANTON STREAK

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"I want a date."

"Don't look at me. I'm not a southern kind of bot."

"Actually, I was thinking the humans would be interesting." Sideswipe gave a noncommittal gesture.

"If they're desperate enough, sure."

"I'm serious."

"I'm surprised." Sunstreaker rolled his optics and continued to inventory his art supplies. He had to keep the list current lest his twin run off with colors and redecorate his teammates. Slagging Prowl and his 'pre-emptive thinking.'

"No, really. I want a date."

"Maybe you should put out an ad?" Sunstreaker suggested, thinking his brother wasn't low enough to do such a thing. He was wrong.

"Would it be classified as "personals" or "automotive"?" Sideswipe asked, dead serious.

"Hey, its your spike. Maybe you can find a nice Ferrari and settle down?"

"And leave you?"

"I'd welcome the peace and quiet."

"Funny."

"I try."

Silence fell for all of one full minute before Sideswipe sighed. "I need a date."

"Why? Other than the obvious?" Sunstreaker asked, finding the titanium white was running lower than what he anticipated.

"Spike and Carly mentioned doing a double date and it sounded like fun."

"You want to go with them?" Sunstreaker asked, now appalled. Just the idea of being near humans when they were initiating their mating phases was enough to drive him far into the hills for safety. The idea of willingly allowing them to 'make out' (or worse) while others were in the vicinity? No thanks!

"I thought a double date would be nice." Sideswipe gave a half shrug. "But I need a date to make it a double."

"You could always ask Tracks. He'll do anything."

"Gross, Bro," Sideswipe said, giving his twin a twisted look.

"And wanting a possible human for 'company', isn't?" Sunstreaker deadpanned, adding paint thinner to his supply list.

"Hey, I'm flexible!"

"I'm achingly familiar."

"Besides, humans aren't so bad. And it's not like we have a lot of femmes to choose from here on Earth."

"So you'd lower yourself to courting an organic?"

"Organics aren't so bad," Sideswipe said, his face twisting into a knowing smirk. "Or do I need to remind you about the organics on Tyverl that thought gold was the color of the Gods? Shall I entail all that was indulged…."

"Alright! Alright! Alright!" Sunstreaker snapped, feeling his plating heat with the mention. That was some fun times but he wisely held his vocalizer on the sordid details. He wouldn't admit to most things that went on, especially not to his twin who had been injured and unable to entertain many aspects of the 'culture exchange'. And Sunstreaker wasn't going to indulge his twin's twisted mind any further.

"So, want to help me find a date?" Sideswipe asked, that ridiculous grin on his face that meant he had more than one idea to his dilemma.

"Start with the society pages," Sunstreaker said, feeling his tanks churn from the sensations flooding the bond. Sideswipe was gearing up for some trouble, he could feel it! "At least the upper class know how to handle a fast model and can treat you right."

"Yuck!" Sideswipe spat. "No thanks!"

"Why not?"

"They act like Mirage."

"Point taken."

"I just want someone who can rev my engine."

"By pedal or spike?" Sunstreaker asked, the giddy feeling now molding into something burning and itching. Primus, Sideswipe was like an infection!

"Either, at this point." Sideswipe grinned. "So, are you going to help me find a date?"

Sunstreaker sighed, resigned to his fate. "What did I sign up for?"

"That's the spirit!" Sideswipe hooted.

A month later, Sideswipe was on the prowl for a date. Just about anyone met his approval but his brother held higher standards. Word got around to the humans that the Autobots were interested in building relationships, and that quickly escalated down into the gutter. Groupies lined up, fawning and crying out in euphoria when the Autobots passed. And now several dozen were camped out on the perimeter of the Autobot base.

Prime was worried.

"This is getting ridiculous," Ironhide snapped as he entered the command center in a foul mood.

"What are they doing out there?" Mirage asked with a sneer toward the cameras displaying the massive campout going on around the ARK. "When Hound and I were on patrol, two females screamed, threw their armor at us, and said they were willing to do things that I'm too scared to go research." Hound gave a blush in the corner but kept quiet. "Something lacey was thrown and made both of us run off the road!"

"What started all this insanity?" Ironhide griped.

The room went silent for a moment, then every voice lifted up. "Sideswipe!"

'**Yeah?'** Sideswipe said over comms.

"Do you have anything to do with this…. insane behavior from the humans?" Prime yelled, not bothering to open comms. He needed to vent and his voice could reach thundering proportions. He was still trying to understand why a human female wanted to know if she could play with his gearshift. He was a little disturbed. And vaguely curious, not that he would admit that to anyone. Thankfully he had been in alt mode and no one could see his pewter blush.

'**Maybe,'** Sideswipe answered.

"Get up here and explain or I will send you outside, completely immobilized and let the humans do as they see fit." Prime promised.

"Really?" Sideswipe asked, sounding hopeful. He sauntered into the command center, his face alight in happiness. He expected to be chastised by the command element, mainly a certain Praxian, but much to Sideswipe's dismay, the tactician was missing. His expression faltered as he looked for his favorite enemy. "Where's Prowl?"

"Med bay," Ratchet said, arms crossed over chassis and dirty look being graced to a Lamborghini. "Apparently a human female asked him to flutter his doorwings because it made her 'hot', and he crashed." Ratchet gave a small shake of his head trying to understand THAT little conversation. "Slagger hasn't had a good defrag, so I'm letting him reboot the old fashioned way."

"He's not the only one," Sideswipe said, sounding disappointed.

"So…. what started this insanity?" Prime prompted.

"It all started because I wanted a date and since there's no femmes, I went with the only females available," Sideswipe said as if it was the most logical thing in the world. He would have loved to crash Prowl again. Ratchet would have thrown a fit, but he'd weathered worse from the medic.

"You…. Are interested in a…an… organic femme?" Jazz asked, dropping into an available seat as his expression remained frozen. There was a chance he had locked up. Sideswipe was hoping for a matched monochromatic set!

"Just wanted some feminine companionship. Powerglide has Astoria," Sideswipe said, motioning toward the guilty plane who was blushing a soft pewter on his cheeks. "Tracks has Raoul."

"We are not together!" Tracks protested with a snarl. "Raoul is a male!"

"He's too… girly," Sideswipe said with a shrug.

Tracks opened his mouth to argue but shut it. Sideswipe made a valid point. Raoul could be too soft sometimes. Carly had a tougher exterior in most situations. Tracks frowned, making a note to investigate further into this anomaly.

"It's lonely here, with you mechs," Sideswipe said, motioning to the ARK crew as a whole. "Sometimes a bot just needs a soft, feminine voice and touch to make the matters of the war disappear."

Prime gave a nod. He could understand where Sideswipe was coming from. The only thing he had a problem with was how Sideswipe went about it. Prime was fairly open minded and it was like Sideswipe suggested. There weren't many femmes, even back home. Having been at war for so long, the mechs were rough, more basic, primal beings that needed the softened, gentle wiles of female attention. Mechs need the femmes to keep them in line, to remind them what was too rash and rude and to soften the hard edges that war had caused. Females were the balm to male souls that were cut by the brutality of existence. They were natural counterbalances.

Prime took a deep in-vent, unsure how he should rebuke Sideswipe, when Tele-Tran blared in warning of an incoming message. Frowning, the command staff, minus Prowl, stationed themselves at the main monitor and felt their engines stall at the ID ping of Megatron. Steeling themselves up for the worst, and hoping the Decepticons didn't attack while the base was surrounded by humans, Prime opened the channel to find Megatron's leering face broadcasting from Nemesis.

"Prime! What have you done?" Megatron shouted without his usual pleasant insults.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Prime said, perturbed at Megatron's riled expression. As far as he was concerned, there was no severe damage inflicted in the latest skirmish last month. Surely Megatron would have chosen a better time to vent his frustration at being foiled in his plans?

"What have you done to the human population?" Megatron roared, looking outraged if not for the phantom smirk that kept twitching his left lip plates.

Fearing the worst and confused beyond measure, Prime looked to Sideswipe, who looked just as stunned. Prime vented in annoyance before returning to regard Megatron. "Care to elaborate?"

Jazz frowned, wondering if the tyrant had captured some humans and were demanding a ransom. Wouldn't be the first time.

"You'll have to speak to the humans and fix whatever mess you created!" Megatron spat, smirked, then adopted an annoyed expression. Whatever had crawled under the warlords plating was frustrating _and _amusing him. It was a wonder the mech's helm didn't pop like a lid off a boiling pot.

"What exactly am I to fix?" Prime asked. Now he was beyond confused. Megatron didn't want to have anything to do with the humans and wanted Prime to remove them from the planet. Now the crazy gunformer wanted Prime to intervene on the Decepticon's behalf and mediate…. What? Peace? Ceasefire?

"Human females approached my seekers," Megatron said and back came that little smirk before disappearing behind a scowl.

"What did those flying idiots do to the humans?" Ironhide demanded, fearing the worst.

"You jump to the wrong conclusion, Simpleton," Megatron snapped. "These females _propositioned_ my elite trine!"

"Propositioned?" Prime parroted, dumbfounded.

"I could only understand a small portion of Starscream's babbling," Megatron admitted. "The femmes offered to pet and lick his wings and made suggestions that once he looked them up, he ran to his quarters and locked himself inside, refusing to leave." He huffed a softened growl, his brow plates lowering in anger. "Soundwave heard whimpering and when he tried to probe Starscream's mind, he shorted out and all of his cassettes ejected amid chaos and are now currently hiding in the vents, refusing to leave the sanctuary of the dark confines."

"Oh? What did the femmes promise? Did you get designations?" Sideswipe asked in giddy excitement. He hoped ALL females were as susceptible.

"I don't know," Megatron admitted. "Thundercracker and Skywarp are both in the medical bay with break downs and had to be placed in deep stasis." Megatron's face twisted into a cruel mask. "Whatever those human females threatened to do has disrupted my command!"

"I…uhhh… apologize?" Prime said, not sure how to respond. This kind of situation wasn't covered in training to be a Prime. Even the Matrix was silent, offering no wisdom or guidance. In fact, Prime was sure it was hiding somewhere in his frame, refusing to be acknowledged until the humans halted their libidinous advancements.

"Well, see to it that it's fixed!" Megatron snapped. "We have a war going on here!"

The transmission ended, leaving the ARK command hub in total silence. Prime frowned, trying to think of a way to escape the planet and allow Megatron the chance to be a ruler of the insane world, but his processor hurt and he felt a twinge in his body that could have been the Matrix either cringing or laughing hysterically.

"No designations?" Sideswipe scoffed. He put his hands on his hips, his face twisted with anger and dismay. "Fragger probably wants them for himself!"

All optics turned to Sideswipe. Most were in disbelief. Jazz looked agreeable.

"So, what do we do?" Ironhide asked Prime. When Prime didn't show any acknowledgment, Ironhide snapped his fingers in front of the Prime's face to break his stupor.

"I don't know," Prime stated, not really paying attention to the conversation. He was trying to ask guidance from the Matrix but it was still under witness protection.

"We can always ask Prowl, when he wakes up," Jazz put in hopefully. He was very curious as to what could have terrified the Decepticons so thoroughly. He may want to use it in the future.

"Slagger's going to need the rest of the day, probably tomorrow too," Ratchet said, looking amused at the whole situation. He rarely smiled, but there was an aura of giddiness about him that was supernatural. Several bots backed away as a precaution. "By then, the population along our perimeter may reach an astronomical number."

"How do you figure?" Jazz asked, curious as to why Ratchet looked to happy. It was weird. There was no wrench in his hand and yet, no one recalled seeing him so elated.

Ratchet smirked and pointed a single digit at the main view screen, which had went back to surveying the perimeter. All optics turned to see two large buses pull up along the outside and belch out a steady stream of humanity.

"Primus." Someone whimpered.

"Now what do we do, boss?" Jazz asked, looking to Prime.

Optimus frowned, searching for any wisdom from the Matrix and after finding only hollow echoes as an answer, he sighed in defeat. "I'm afraid I am at a loss, Jazz."

"Might I make a suggestion?" Ratchet said, still smirking in a devilish way that had bots checking up on their current health status, lest they be whisked away by the Pit Maker walking among them.

"I am all audios," Prime said.

"Don't let the humans hear you say that," Mirage said with a shudder. "Unless you want your grill molested."

Hound offered a smirk that no one witnessed before schooling his features. He had nearly laughed his axels off when a libidinous femme had rubbed Mirage's grill in a way that had his engine revving despite his protests. The poor race car barely got away with his dignity. Though Hound did record the adventure for later blackmail.

"I suggest we give the human's what they want," Ratchet said, earning an instant sound vacuum that lasted all of five seconds before the room erupted in a cacophony of noise. He had to send one glare toward the assemblage to gain instant silence before he continued. "I say we provide a pamphlet, sufficiently embroidered with outrageous details, that will make the humans wary of starting any potential relationship, due mainly to the fact that the criteria will not only be physically impossible for them to accomplish, but afraid of side effects that may or may not prevent them from copulating in the future."

"Oh, mech, I see where you are driving," Jazz said, his grin spreading.

"A…what?" Prime asked, still trying to catch up to Ratchet's way of thinking. Prime's weren't wired to be devious and mischievous and most certainly, not promoting of interspecies intercourse that may lead to some disastrous results.

"We let them think they have a chance until they see the 'system requirements' and when they realize the size of our equipment, the severe electrical discharge, the public displays of nudity and ceremony, the mating rituals that require multiple partners, and the official 'blessing of the leadership', then that alone should deter any further stupidity," Ratchet said, looking to Sideswipe who was frowning, trying to keep up with the conversation.

"Wait… we don't do any of that," Sideswipe said slowly. "Well, except the equipment size and discharge." He jerked his head toward the minibots. "Except for them, of course."

"Hey!" Brawn barked, shaking a fist.

"The humans will _think_ we will," Ratchet elaborated. "When they realize they could die from potential sexual contact, that should deter them to not pursue this avenue ever again."

"And if they do, then they are forewarned!" Jazz smirked. Oh, he liked the way Ratchet computed!

"I should have some suitable reading material available by the end of the day," Ratchet announced.

"Proceed," Prime said, not sure of the plan, but trusting his medic's opinion.

"Oh, can I help?" Jazz asked, practically bounding to the medic like a giddy youngling.

"With your twisted processor? Absolutely," Ratchet said, leading the way to Wheeljack's lab to use the main printer…. if it was still functioning.

By the end of the day, the minibots was handing out pamphlets to an eager population. The other mechs were hiding in the ARK, and though they knew the humans were intimidated by them, they wanted the minibots to show the act of 'good neighbor.' As Ratchet had guessed, as soon as the humans got the comparative diagram of the Cybertronian "male," their eyes went wide. Some fainted. Then the page of 'ceremonies' was read, heads shook, and as if on cue, tents started to be packed. Campfires were snuffed out. Vehicles packed with supplies and humans to full capacity, and just as fast as they arrived, they were gone.

All except one female, who tended a small fire and sat on a log humming to herself. A dusty minivan, resembling the ghost of Ironhide, sat under a tree. Curiously, the Autobots watched the femme through the evening and night. When morning broke she exited her car and started a light breakfast. This earned Sideswipe's interest. He snuck out of base and approached. Her face lit up when she noticed her company.

"Hello, handsome!" she exclaimed.

Sideswipe liked her immediately.

It turned out, "Flower" didn't mind the thought of constant nudity and body 'inspections,' nor thought the idea of Cybertronian mating with observers was a quaint idea. The 'interchangeable parts' confused her, but she said if they were willing to excuse her organic nature, she could overlook the cold touch of metal.

Sideswipe offered to drive his new found friend back to the city, but she insisted on 'roughing' it. When she asked Sideswipe where the nearest stream was to bathe, he escorted her to the place, and without embarrassment, she stripped to her protoform and jumped into the cool water. Sideswipe watched, intrigued by the human body as she swam and ran her fingers through her short hair. When she was done, she gathered her discarded clothes and walked naked back to her camp, where there was a strangled yell, followed by the heavy pounding pedes of a mech in retreat. Sideswipe noticed the indentations on the ground, signaling where a heavy body was running away.

"What do you say, we get away from here and the haunted wood?" Sideswipe said, trying to throw suspicion off of Mirage, who materialized halfway back to base, running full pelt.

"Sounds like a plan," Flower smiled.

"Let's go somewhere…. More comfortable." Sideswipe suggested.

Flower smiled, putting out the guttering embers and followed Sideswipe into town for their fist official 'date.' It was to be his first and last date.

A week later Sideswipe poked his head into the med bay.

"Hmm, Doc-bot?" Sideswipe asked hesitantly.

Ratchet sighed, putting down his polishing rag and looking over his shoulder to see his worst patient. "What?"

"Could you look at something for me?" Sideswipe asked in a lowered voice.

Ratchet frowned. Whatever it was bothering Sideswipe, he didn't want anyone else to know. This piqued Ratchet's interest.

"What?"

Sideswipe entered the medical wing, went to the berth beside the medic and laid down, retracting his interface panel. "It itches."

Ratchet quirked a brow, thinking the Lamborghini was pulling another prank, when he noticed the discoloration around the intimate array. He zoomed in and noticed movement. A noise of surprise came out of the ambulance.

"What….is that?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me," Sideswipe admitted. "I've been itching for the past couple of days. It's getting worse."

"I'd say," Ratchet muttered, using a magnification and finding hundreds of little organic creatures scuttling over Sideswipe's plating. "What exactly have you been doing?"

Sideswipe admitted to the whole sordid affair and after Ratchet stopped laughing, he grabbed a tub of gel and retracted a finger to expose a very sharp, chisel like appendage.

"What… are you going to do with that?" Sideswipe asked, aghast.

"I need to do a complete scrape and peel before applying an iso-balm," Ratchet said, looking like he was just granted the keys to the underworld.

"Isn't there something else you can do?" Sideswipe asked, sliding up the berth away from Ratchet's sharp digit as he neared Sideswipe's favorite body part.

"This is an organic infestation. It takes a full evacuation and decontamination, followed by a preventative gel to ensure no reinfestations," Ratchet explained, closing in on his prey. He loved to watch his patients squirm. Especially when he was nearing their intimate parts with such a sharp object. It gave him no uncertain amount of delight.

Sideswipe knew he had no where to go. If he wanted to get rid of whatever was plaguing his plating, he'd have to submit to the rough medical treatment. He fell strutless on the berth, closed his optics and grit his denta. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Shall I recount the details?" Ratchet asked, raking the sharp edge along the outer perimeter of Sideswipe's interface array. For his part, Sideswipe didn't yell or scream or curse. Most mechs did.

"I've learned my lesson," Sideswipe said through gritted denta as Ratchet raked another line along his sensitive panel. He emitted a pained squeal as Ratchet continued his excavations.

"Well, love is never easy," Ratchet answered, hiding his laughter under the screeching of grinding metal.

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WHY do I love torturing that mech so much? I'm sure there's a medical/scientific explanation for it. Heaven knows there's a label for everything else, so why not Lambo-torture? lol

Reviews are loved and answered, so check ya inboxes... to those who sign in. :P


	87. Double Sided

Double Sided

CONGRATS TO SUPERMOI FOR GETTING REVIEW #1400! Whoever gets 1500 gets a request!

This chapter is a little longer than the norm. But hopefully its still entertaining. Love to all!

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"What do you mean you can't?" Sunstreaker snapped, nose to nose with Ratchet.

"As in, I do not have the parts to fit a Lamborghini," Ratchet said in a slow draw, not backing down from the golden tornado.

"There are three of us on base," Sunstreaker gritted, optics reflected back to him in Ratchet's own optics.

"I know how many slagging Lamborghinis there are!" Ratchet snapped, his fist shaking beside their heads to emphasize his point. "The fact remains that while you slag up your systems more often than most, the humans who supply our parts are limited with their generosity." Ratchet explained. "I just don't have the resources. I have to factor in everyone's frame and compatible parts. I can't special order something until its a matter of life and death."

"But, we're on a planet _full_ of resources," Sunstreaker said, not backing down from Ratchet glare.

"We are allotted only a certain amount of supplies from the local Earthen government," Ratchet said, sounding disgusted.

"We need the parts to maintain our health," Sunstreaker growled, now feeling irked toward the human race. He always felt that way. Didn't take much provocation.

"I make due with what I have," Ratchet said, trying to hide his own disgust at being given handouts from strangers. It was demeaning and humiliating.

"Well see," Sunstreaker hissed, whirling and disappearing through the med bay doors. He opened a comm. to his twin as he stalked to his destination.

**'Sideswipe, I need your help with something.'**

**'Oh, If its a prank, count me in,'** was the immediate response.

**'Nothing funny. This is serious.'**

**'Oh, never mind. Count me out.'**

**'I'm not joking.'**

**'That's part of the reason why I don't want in,'** Sideswipe retorted. He felt the anger and aggravation filter over the bond. More than the usual. It caused him to twinge in pain. **'What's up?'**

**'I may need you to cover my shifts next week,'** Sunstreaker said. **'If I can't get Prowl to change the schedule, I'll need someone to cover for me.'**

**'What do I get out of it?'** Sideswipe asked.

**'You will have your own assignment,'** Sunstreaker said, ignoring his brother. **'I have money from the paintings I sold. I want you to do some investing.'**

**'Oh?'** Sideswipe said, now interested. He had a rare gift in figuring out which stock was going to take off.

**'Pick some investments,'** Sunstreaker said, turning the corner and heading down the long corridor to his destination. **'Fast returns first, then larger, grander scale later.'**

**'Can do,'** Sideswipe said, cutting the transmission to begin his research.

Sunstreaker slapped the orange door as announcement of his arrival. Without waiting for affirmation of entrance he hit the door lock and opened the door.

Prowl looked up from his reports, his face set in the stern lines he wore when addressing certain Lamborghinis.

"I didn't grant permission to enter," he said, as Sunstreaker crossed the threshold.

"Don't really need your permission,' Sunstreaker said, standing in front of the desk, his face serious. Such expression drew Prowl's attention. He put down his datapads and gave Sunstreaker his undivided attention.

"If this is something for your brother," Prowl started, but Sunstreaker cut across.

"This doesn't concern Sideswipe, at least not directly, well maybe, a bit directly, but most of its indirect." Sunstreaker babbled, frowning then sighed with the summation, "It's both. Direct and indirect."

"My processor hurts," Prowl said, rubbing his temples. The twins had a habit of causing such affliction. They were carriers of aches and pains. And dementia.

"I need a week off, maybe two," Sunstreaker said.

"And why would you need such an extended vacation?" Prowl asked, very interested in what Sunstreaker would be doing in that time.

"Personal reason," Sunstreaker's expression turned dark, foreboding.

"And if I grant this leave of absence?" Prowl said, look not displaying frustration over the lack of answers he was receiving. "What would be the criteria in which I would grant such a thing?"

"Look, I cover for mechs all the time and have pulled my share of boredom duty," Sunstreaker said, giving Prowl a glare that matched the one Prime could throw your way if he was pissed enough. It was a rare look from him. On Sunstreaker, it looked natural. "Sideswipe can cover the few odd shifts for me, but I need some time off."

"I'm assuming for health purposes?" Prowl asked, brow ridge arched in skeptic display.

"Yes," Sunstreaker said, not finding joy in the startled look Prowl wore. "If I don't get the time off, I'll terminate someone."

"I can grant one week," Prowl said, pulling out a datapad from subspace and opening the duty roster. He already had the next three moths planned. This was going to throw his calculations off. "But two would be pushing it. I'm sorry."

"You can put me on the schedule but I won't show up," Sunstreaker said, "Put Sideswipe in on my shift. He can pull the occasional double. I've pulled them enough covering for his drunken aft."

"Very well," Prowl nodded, amending the schedule and bringing up the schedule list for the next month. "When do you wish to enact this request?"

"Tomorrow," Sunstreaker said, earning noise of protest.

"That doesn't give me enough time to redo the schedule," Prowl said

"Make it work," Sunstreaker said in a nonchalant, commanding tone before spinning and heading to the open door. He paused o the threshold and added, "And Sideswipe needs some time for correlating data. Don't ask questions. Because I don't want explain it and I shouldn't have to. But this will benefit all. You have my word."

Sunstreaker shut the door on a very stunned Prowl. He felt a burning along his neural circuitry. It was a familiar path when the twins were involved in something that set Prowl's sensors on edge.

The next morning the duty roster had went out. Mechs complained about the shift and now two were going to miss important events they had planned to attend. No one noticed Sunstreaker's name missing from the list. That afternoon, Sunstreaker left base without word of his destination. He returned that evening, looking exhausted but gorgeous, as if he wasn't driving through dusty streets and pitted roads. Sideswipe was hid away in their shared quarters, books and old newspaper print scanning through TeleTrans reader and storing the data for analyses. He barely acknowledged his brother as he entered their quarters and collapsed on his berth. He was in charge in a matter of seconds.

Sideswipe busied himself with the reports and financial sections of the top newspapers. Having access to Sunstreaker's bank account, he was able to get the funds transferred into the four 'quick return' stocks he picked out. He was going to give them a month before pulling the money and reinvesting. There were two major stocks he was eyeing but the timing had to be right and his circuits didn't itch with anticipation. Which meant the stocks weren't ripe yet.

Three days, Sunstreaker rose early and departed the ARK and returned after dark. Red Alert was more than suspicious and only after a long lecture by Prowl did the white Lamborghini calm down enough to not sound the alarm when Sunstreaker left at dawn on the fourth day.

Prowl thought he had the situation in hand when there was a Decepticon attack and the Autobots rolled out. Sideswipe opted to remain at base and offered to direct troops to necessary positions. Red Alert was sequestered in his security room and kept his attention centered on Sideswipe, who kept multiple screens running during the incursion. When the bots returned, many wounded, Red Alert immediately commed the commanding officers and demand they take action against Sideswipe.

Sideswipe was at the monitors when Prime limped up to Sideswipe, Prowl and Ironhide flanking him.

"Sideswipe, care to elaborate on what you were working on while we engaged the Decepticons?" Prime asked, keeping his voice neutral. It was odd that Sideswipe opted to remain at the monitors instead of jumping on the front line. Many mechs had mentioned this fact, which lead to the discovery that Sunstreaker was absent as well.

"I was monitoring the Decepticons location and transmissions from Tele-Tran," Sideswipe answered truthfully. "I was in constant contact with Prowl as he reassessed tactical coordinates."

Prowl offered a nod. Sideswipe had been a constant voice in his helm as he formulated new tactical advantages during the battle and used Tele-Tran's more powerful transmitter to broadcast to the troops to avoid Soundwave's interference. Sideswipe even had insight on possible Decepticon tactics which were implemented and lead to the Cons defeat. Sideswipe had saved a lot of lives with his foresight.

"He is speaking the truth," Prowl said, sending a data burst to Prime with a full report.

"Where's your brother?" Ironhide asked, optics narrowed. It wasn't often one was seen without the other.

"He's taking a few days off for personal reasons," Sideswipe said, giving Ironhide a cool look. "You know how volatile he gets and he figured it was better to go and blow off some steam so none of you would get caught in his rage."

Ironhide looked a little uncomfortable. He had witnessed Sunstreaker in one of his rages. And had suffered damage because of it. There were times when Sunstreaker just lost all control, and it was better that he was by himself lest he hurt those he lived with. Sideswipe liked to joke that it was Sunstreaker's 'werewolf' phase and he needed to lose himself to his animal side.

"When will he be back?" Prime asked, having not read Prowl's report. The SIC realized it too because he sent a reprimanding look toward his leader.

"He's back every night to charge, then leaves early in the morning," Sideswipe reported.

"He is on sabbatical for two weeks, or until he feels he is stable enough to return," Prowl said, giving Prime the reasoning behind the Lamborghini's absence.

"And what else is going on?" Prime asked, his optics boring directly into Sideswipe's.

Such scrutiny would send lesser mechs quailing but not Sideswipe. He matched his leader's glare, unaffected by the look and gave a partial shrug.

"Sunny wanted me to make some investments for him," he answered. "He has some money acquired from selling his paintings."

"And he wished you to invest…. Now?" Prowl asked, now finding the minute cracks in the twins' stories. Something was starting to twinge his circuits.

"Maybe he's looking into retirement?" Sideswipe offered with another shrug. "I don't know everything that goes on in my brother's processor."

Sideswipe had to quell the irritation that accompanied that statement. In truth, he didn't know _**what**_ Sunstreaker was doing. He kept his vocalizer off and shut his side of the bond, preventing Sideswipe from any emotional peeks.

"If Sunstreaker was up to something unsavory, you would tell us, correct?" Prowl asked, sounding hesitant. This was _Sideswipe_ he was talking to... about his twin.

"If something was going to get anyone hurt or killed, yes, I would tell you," Sideswipe said, feeling disgruntled that the commanding officers forgot one important detail. "You forget who holds Sunny's violence in check and spars with him to ensure he doesn't hurt anyone else."

All three mechs were chastised. Sideswipe hid his smugness behind a dark expression.

"Red's spazzing out again," Ironhide supplied with a sigh, looking to the other officers.

"I will deal with him," Prowl said, turning on his pede and taking his leave. Sideswipe noted the multiple welds that ran along Prowl's shoulders and a doorwing.

Ironhide sighed, looking to Prime. "Ratchet's pitching another fit."

"See what you can do," Prime said, nodding in dismissal.

Ironhide walked away, his joints squeaking a little on the left side. Prime waited until he was alone with Sideswipe and added, "Sideswipe, what is Sunstreaker up to?"

"I really don't know, Sir," Sideswipe said. He touched a sequence on the control panel and brought up one of the small boxes that indicated his extracurricular work. "He's wanting Earth money, and as fast as he can get it."

"Think he's into something illegal?" Prime asked, leaning against the consol. His busted leg gave a hiss in protest at the shift in weight.

"It's not Sunny you should worry about illegal activities," Sideswipe smiled before returning his attention back to the screen. "And so far, he's given no indication that he has ill intent."

Prime regarded the red Lamborghini for a moment. The screen lit up Sideswipe's features as his optics darted between the main viewing screen to the smaller screen that held human stocks and notations.

"If anything comes up, feel free to come speak to me," Prime said, pulling himself upright and wincing at the protesting joint. "My door is always open."

"I appreciate it but it's not necessary," Sideswipe said without looking away. His servos flew over the controls and manipulated the screens with such speed and accuracy, Prime was lost and dizzy.

"The offer still stands," Prime reminded the Lamborghini before taking his leave.

Sideswipe continued his work, his circuits singing with the news that two of his stocks had doubled in price. He was going to wait until that tingling happened along his neural relays before selling out and reinvesting in the next stock.

That evening, Sunstreaker didn't return. He sent a hasty message to his twin about his need for solitude and assurances that he had a place to charge. Sideswipe acknowledged the message, still unable to detect his twin through their bond. With heavy steps he went to the quarters he shared with his brother and curled up on Sunstreaker's berth. Charge didn't come easy and Sideswipe was short tempered for patrol the next day.

When Sunstreaker returned late the following evening he went to his berth and curled up, ready for a long charge in his own berth. Sideswipe's giddiness was detectable for the last five miles to base and Sunstreaker knew as soon as his brother was relieved of duty, he'd make a beeline for their quarters. Two hours later he wasn't disappointed. Sideswipe landed on top of him in a ruby mass of metal and relieved spark. Sunstreaker felt guilty about not sharing the details of where he was or what he was doing. He didn't want Sideswipe to know, lest he think less of him. And when he slipped out of their quarters early the next morning, he wasn't expecting the pang of distress that Sideswipe sent upon waking and finding his brother already gone.

'**Sorry, Bro, but I won't be back for a couple of days,'** Sunstreaker said over the comm. when Sideswipe battered at Sunstreaker's defenses in retaliation.

Sideswipe knew something was up from his brother's usage of the human term. Sunstreaker didn't like to abbreviate words and the human quirk irritated him to no end.

'**I just need some space,'** Sunstreaker said, feeling guilt wash over him. It was hard to quell the feeling and he worried that Sideswipe would sense it and come after him. **'I have a lot on my processor and I can't figure it out at the base.'**

'**Without me?'** Sideswipe's presence was timid, hurt.

'**We all have things we must face alone,'** Sunstreaker said, sending a pang of affection toward his twin that was followed by annoyance. Sunstreaker didn't like to show affection, no matter if it was physical or emotional. He believed such things were weak.

Sideswipe knew there was nothing he could say or do to bring his brother back. Sunstreaker had done such a disappearing act before. Several times in fact. Sideswipe chalked it up to an artist's quirk, not wanting to delve into psychology and find answers he may not like. But he granted Sunstreaker his space. But that only extended so far.

Then he'd chase his brother down.

'**Be careful,'** Sideswipe offered with one final push of adoration toward his brother.

Sunstreaker begrudgingly accepted the affection and returned it before shutting down all transmissions.

Sunstreaker wasn't gone for two days as he said. He was gone for five. On the fourth day of his absence the Autobots were called out again to assist with a Decepticon attack. Sideswipe abandoned the monitors and went straight for the front line, cursing the entire time. The bots sent the cons retreating back to Nemesis with very little cargo, but many of the mechs had suffered heavy damage. The action did little to assuage Sideswipe's mood. He was still surly, foul tempered, and paced circles inside the ARK. He was like a double of Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker had sent audio and spark transmissions, assuring his brother of his continued survival and updates on returning home. Sideswipe wasn't amicable to such transmissions. He was furious and promised his brother a good throttling upon his return. That garnered a warm thrum of genuine affection that startled Sideswipe off his tangent.

Sideswipe was beside himself with grief, taking to pacing the ARK at all hours and becoming short tempered. Bots forgot that Sideswipe shared his brother's violent nature.

On the sixth day, just before noon, Sunstreaker come rolling in. Without warning, Sideswipe left the monitors, thundered down the hall, greeted his brother with a shuddering fist to the helm before pulling him into a tight hug.

"Knock it off," Sunstreaker griped, slapping at his affectionate brother. "Mechs are watching."

"Don't care," Sideswipe said against Sunstreaker's helm fins, his embrace tightened ever so slightly. "I should beat you for being gone so long."

"I needed the time,' Sunstreaker said, tweaking a wire to make his brother let go of him. Honestly, the mech could act like a straight jacket on a mental patient!

"Well, you better not have one of these episodes again anytime in the near future," Sideswipe warned. "Else I'm coming with you even if I have to get Ratchet to weld us together!"

"So much for alone time,' Sunstreaker quipped, earning another smack from his twin that turned into a hug, though this one more lax.

"What if a Con found you?" Sideswipe asked in a hushed tone.

"I'm a big bot, I can take care of myself," Sunstreaker said, sending a flare of irritation through the bond. Before Sunstreaker could continue, his comms went off.

'**Prowl to Sunstreaker.'**

'**Yeah?'** came the annoyed affirmation.

'**Are you prepared to return to duty or do you still require the last two days of your requested leave?'**

'**Still need the leave to catch up on charge, and effect a few repairs,'** Sunstreaker answered, Sideswipe babbling away and not catching the internal communiqué going on with his twin. **'I could take some monitor duty tomorrow evening if necessary.'**

'**Take all the time you need,'** Prowl said, sounding uncharacteristically understanding.

Sunstreaker gave a stretch, his joints cracking and hissing.

"You need to see Ratchet," Sideswipe said, linking arms with his brother and marching him to med bay.

Ratchet took one look at the two patients and let loose a verbal tirade that made the twins proud. The Pit Master himself couldn't have done a better job of blistering paint. The verbal assault doubled when Ratchet scanned Sunstreaker's frame and found numerous injuries.

"I don't know what you were thinking!" Ratchet yelled, pointing to a berth and shoving Sunstreaker onto his back with a firm hand on his shoulder. The yellow mech landed with a bang of metal and threatening growl that Ratchet ignored as he continued. "It looks like you went off-roading with Hound, which I know you wouldn't do. _Ever._ So tell me, what slagged up your systems so badly?"

"Thought I'd have a little fun," Sunstreaker said, wincing when Ratchet removed plating with his usual, gentle bedside manner. Equal parts homicidal rage and acidic tenderness.

"Fun?" Ratchet fumed, hooking into Sunstreaker's systems for a diagnostic of his systems. They were even more slagged than his frame. "You know I don't keep spare parts for your frame type! So stop slagging yourself up and expecting me to work miracles with tin foil and duct tape!"

Before Sunstreaker could retaliate Ratchet had started his shut down sequence. He fell into oblivion with a raging white ghost looming over him, optics piercing his very soul and making him wither.

The next day Sunstreaker woke up to find Sideswipe passed out beside of him. He sighed, staring up at the ugly orange ceiling, Sideswipe curled against his side on the berth that meant only for one patient at a time. Sunstreaker considered mentioning to Ratchet they need a wider berth, but he had a feeling such a suggestion would get him beaten. Again. His systems showed the signs of repair but they weren't anywhere near the standard for his frame type. But, like all things, it would have to do. He had fought in worse condition in the Pits. And Ratchet's work was certainly better than any questionable medic in the Pits.

Not that Sunstreaker would admit such a thing aloud.

A noise to his left drew his attention. Sunstreaker gave a start upon seeing the other patient.

Bluestreak was on a berth, facing Sunstreaker. His optics were closed in slumber, his vents offering a soft flutter. Wires and tubes ran all over his body. One doorwing was suspended from the ceiling via a strange contraption Ratchet had devised. The edges were ragged, dried energon crusted the normally grey paint. His right servo was crushed, the armor along his right arm sporting dents that looked like a triplechanger's pede.

With a grunt Sunstreaker lifted himself up on the berth, Sideswipe releasing his hold and curling into the warm place his brother vacated. The upright position granted him view of the ward and all of its patients. Judging by the fresh leaking energon from two unconscious Autobots, there had been a battle while the twins had slept.

Powerglide was passed out on a berth, Ratchet and Wheeljack flanking him as they both affected repairs. Everything looked normal until Sunstreaker noticed Wheeljack's lopsided swaying and Ratchet's worried look to his long time friend and patient. Wheeljack ignored the look and continued working.

The next berth sported Windcharger, who lay in silence, surrounded by a halo of glass. Sunstreaker guessed the minibot was in stasis until Ratchet could work on him. The next berth was Mirage, who had his left side mismatched with stripes of welding scars. The primer showed through from dozens of scratches, some of the gouges going deep and exposing circuitry.

Sunstreaker's gaze drifted the minibot sitting up on the berth, his arms crossed, his expression dour, a pede missing.

"And where were _you_?" Gears asked in an accusatory tone, staring right at Sunstreaker. "Three battles against the Cons and you weren't there. I find that strange."

"Still your vocalizer," Sunstreaker warned, his anger bleeding through the bond and causing Sideswipe to come up off the berth, poised for battle.

"I find it odd that you disappear and we get our afts beaten," Gears continued, earning a warning growl from Ratchet. He didn't like where the minibot was going in his inquiries. "So, if you don't have anything to hide, where were you?"

"I don't answer to you," Sunstreaker said, his optics shining with the urge to fight. "I have already cleared my leave with Prowl. If you don't like it, take it up with him."

"I'm taking it up with you,' Gears pressed. He didn't see Ratchet put down his tools and turn, giving him a glare that would melt lesser alloys. "Where were you and what were you doing?"

"That is none of your business," Sunstreaker said, getting off the berth. His systems were showing degradation, but he was still fit enough to whoop a minibot.

"I think it is," Gears continued. "I think I should have a talk with Prime."

"Go ahead, Pest," Sunstreaker snorted and much to everyone's surprise he turned and left the medical ward without a backward glance.

Sideswipe stayed long enough to glare at the minibot who was staring open mouthed, like Ratchet and Wheeljack, and added, "Keep it up and a missing pede will be the least of your worries."

Sideswipe found Sunstreaker in their quarters, the golden mech going over the money transfers and stock trades that his brother had made in the past two weeks. Sideswipe's little insights had already doubled Sunstreaker's money. One stock in particular was doing phenomenally well. The portfolio on it already crested a hundred thousand dollars.

"Sell this stock and reinvest the rest," Sunstreaker said when his brother came in.

"But, that's the highest grossing," Sideswipe protested.

"Sell half and one of the others then," Sunstreaker said, rising from the desk and going to his berth. He was drained more than what he cared to admit. He sent a data transmission with details before adding, "Transfer into this account."

"Why?" Sideswipe asked, sitting down and working on the stock trade shuffle.

"Just do it, Sideswipe," Sunstreaker sighed, his optics powering down. "Let me know when the funds will be available."

"Should be in the account by days end," Sideswipe said, filing all the paperwork and getting the necessary clearances. When he was done he went over to Sunstreaker and without invitation, crawled into her brother's berth and powered down. Sunstreaker was unaware of his visitor, but his spark settled, soothing his processor for a recuperative rest.

The twins were rousted from charge by a pounding on their door. Sideswipe answered the door to find Red Alert fuming on the other side.

"Explain yourselves," he demanded, sparks jumping around his helm.

"In what way?" Sideswipe asked. He was too tired to get into another weird conversation with the fritzed mech.

"My records show that there have been several wire transfers into accounts and Tele-Tran confirms that you have been investing in the human stock market," Red Alert said. "Explain to me why you are doing such a thing or I'll go to Prime."

"Go ahead, get him!" Sunstreaker snapped from where he finally powered up and rose from the berth. "Tell him, and everyone else, that I'm calling a meeting in ten minutes in the Command Center."

"You can't call a meeting," Red Alert snapped, looking like he was trying to find a good reason to deny the twins such an audience. "Only members of staff and elected officials may call a meeting."

"Well then announce that I will hold an illegal gathering in the Command Center in ten minutes," Sunstreaker sneered before slamming the door shut on Red Alert's sputtering face.

"What are you up to?" Sideswipe asked, not sure if he liked this aspect of his brother's personality.

Sunstreaker went to the corner and loosed the panel that hid a vast amount of high grade. He downed a cube, feeling the charge ignite his systems and refresh his processor.

"Come along and all shall be revealed," Sunstreaker said opening the door and finding it devoid of white Lamborghini.

"Ohhhhh… you sound like a magician," Sideswipe grinned and followed his twin.

Much to the twins surprise, everyone was attendance, including Red Alert who was launching an argument against the twins calling for such a union. Prime was favoring the frantic mech with his usual patience, Ratchet sneaking up behind with a tranquilizer to mellow the bot out before he blew a fuse. When Red was dosed up and staring dreamily into space, Ratchet opening his helm panels and making a few minor adjustments, Sunstreaker started speaking.

"I'm not one to talk so I'll get to the point," Sunstreaker said, noticing Bluestreak leaning against Smokescreen, the other Praxian tenderly brushing the damaged door wing. "I have made some money selling my work to the humans. I asked Sideswipe to invest it for a quick turn around and as of right now, there is….?"

Sunstreaker looked to Sideswipe, wanting his brother to confirm the money deposit. Sideswipe grinned and added, "One hundred six thousand, two hundred and ninety-one dollars and fourteen cents in the account."

Sunstreaker offered a single curt nod then turned to Ratchet. "I am sending you the necessary information to access the account."

"Why?" Ratchet asked, accepting the message but not opening it.

"Consider it health insurance," Sunstreaker said. "Use the money in the account to purchase what you need to maintain our systems."

"The humans_ have_ been rather stingy,' Sideswipe added.

"You're donating…. This money… for … parts?" Ratchet asked, stunned.

"There are currently three Lamborghinis on this base and you have no parts to fit our frames," Sunstreaker said, his joints offering a grinding squeak as if in affirmation of the statement. "There are other sport car models but you lack the resources to properly care for your patients."

"So you… what?" Ratchet asked, still not believing what he was hearing. "You think Sideswipe's investments are going to be enough to take care of the whole slagging squad?"

"No," Sunstreaker said simply. "But this is a start. We don't have to rely on the generosity of humans to ration what we are allowed to receive."

"And all of this human money…." Ratchet said, waving his hand as though the commodity would appear out of thing air. "I am to use it to purchase _parts_?"

"For now, yes, just parts," Sunstreaker said, wincing when Ironhide's own squeaking body joined in his ill-set chorus. "Do not worry about oil and tires."

"Oh no, that's a whole **new** problem," Ratchet grumbled, remembering the cost of the racing tires the twins liked to use.

"Holy fragging joysticks!" Blaster shouted, his optics fixed on the small tv monitor that turned in to the local station so the bots could catch up on their soap opera.

"Now what?" Jazz asked, his request for replacement parts already sent to Ratchet and received with a vicious return ping.

"Check it out…" Blaster said with a grin, bringing the local channel into focus on the main screen.

The footage rewound until it showed a speck of yellow moving as a comet. Then the picture grew until it was unmistakably Sunstreaker. The golden front liner transformed in a flash of whirling gears and sparkling colors before landing in an attack posture, gun firing at unseen enemies. He spun, landing in a crouch, smoke issuing from his weapon, a deadly gleam in his optics as he stared down the camera. The scene faded on his handsome face, as the logo for an auto parts store superimposed on the fading Lamborghini.

"Premium Auto Parts is a proud sponsor of the Autobots and their affiliates," a female announcer said before logo and Sunstreaker disappeared.

"Sponsor?" Prime asked, giving Sunstreaker a surprised look.

"I had to make a deal with the Pit Maker," Sunstreaker sighed, feeling the last few days weigh heavy on his frame. "I did a couple commercials for them and they in turn give us all the tires and oil we need."

"You…. pimped yourself?" Sideswipe asked, sounding both distressed and admiring.

"I _bartered_," Sunstreaker said, giving his brother a dirty look. "And I need a non-sporty mech to go with me next month for the other commercial." He offered a shrug at Prime's curious look. "Something about the director wanting different types of frames to appeal to a larger audience."

"My brother," Sideswipe said, slinging his arm around his brother's shoulders and earning a warning rev. "A philanthropist and a hoe."

Sunstreaker punched his twin, sending careening sideways, knocking him into Jazz. The Porsche caught the Lamborghini and helped steady him.

"With parts and maintenance covered, the rest of my investments my idiotic half is doing, will go toward purchasing land," Sunstreaker said, feeling a surge of satisfaction when Sideswipe kept his distance. "I've already spoken to several human agencies and there is a chance we can purchase this area, at least after the zoning and committees are finished with their political slag. They should be calling within the month about purchase price and property boundaries."

"How big are we talking?" Ironhide asked. He felt cramped in the training room and the small makeshift shooting range next to the volcano could use some extra space.

"Depending on the committee's decision. Whatever they decide is fine because according to human laws, we as representatives of a foreign nation, are allowed to have property and certain amenities to institute a consulate."

"Huh?" Sideswipe asked, looking to Prime who was starting to smile.

"It means, Sideswipe, that we would have property that could be designated Cybertronian soil and the humans may not trespass on it until given explicit permission," Prowl said, giving Sunstreaker a calculating look. "How did you come up with this?"

"Just tired of getting hand outs," Sunstreaker said, his left side choosing that moment to creak in answer. "And our bodies aren't getting any newer. We require parts and a certain level of maintenance." Sunstreaker jerked his head toward Ironhide and added, "Older models need a lot of work."

"Slagging hilarious," Ironhide said but there was no caustic bite to his jibe. It would be nice to have a fully operational frame and not have Ratchet scavenging for parts in junkyards.

"So the oil and tires?" Ratchet prompted, his mind already filled with the prospect of having a med bay with actual, stocked parts that would help his comrades.

"Premium Auto Parts will be delivering a few cases of oil and ten sets of tires by week's end," Sunstreaker said. "I didn't have everyone's specifications, but they are sending a selection. Should have a delivery every month so you'll have to start making a list and setting up a schedule for everyone's rotations."

"You just did this so I would have more work," Ratchet grumbled, but his smile belied his grouchy mood.

"Well, at least you have something to work _with_," Sunstreaker returned the smile.

"How often are these deliveries and for how long?" Prowl asked, his battle computer up and running.

"Once a month for five years," Sunstreaker said. "And I'm obligated to four commercials a year on top of the three commercials that the rest of you will have to accompany me."

"We'll get tires and oil just to look handsome?" Sideswipe asked, adopting a cheeky look. "Mechs, leave everything to me. I'll have us in supplies in a week! Maybe less!"

No one took Sideswipe seriously. They all turned their attention away from him and regarded Sunstreaker.

"And there will be some officials getting in touch with you Prime about setting the base up as a consulate and the channels needed to get Cybertron recognized by the human governments," Sunstreaker put in, earning a flabbergasted look from Prime.

"If we're getting new parts, then I want new shocks," Mirage said, gracing Ratchet with a sharp stare. Ratchet had been denying the Tower mech his new shocks because the ones he wanted were top of the line and Ratchet didn't have the budget to work with. Now, the medic didn't have an excuse. Unfortunately all the Autobots realized this at once and the room filled with the demands of the walking wounded.

"I need new tires."

"I need a new oil pan."

"If Mirages gets the SuperShocks 6000, then I want a set too!"

"Can I get new woofers?"

On and on the bots argued, until Ratchet intervened.

"Everyone, shut up!" Ratchet yelled, his voice instantly garnering silence. When he was sure he had everyone's attention he added, "I have a list of everyone's parts needed to maintain their health," Ratchet sent a death glare to Mirage before continuing, "And those will receive top priority. If there is anything left in the account, then only the parts needed to reinforce structure or stability will be considered. Petty things like paint jobs, top of the line shocks and stereo upgrades will have to wait, or you can find a way to earn the money to pay for them yourselves. Either way, I will set up a time table allowing the most needy to get their replacements and repairs before those who wish only cosmetic upgrades."

Several mechs looked sullen but no one spoke. They knew better than to cross Ratchet. He may be their healer but he was also their 'Mother Hen', and his pecking was punctuated with a wrench.

"I will set up a schedule and will begin repairs tomorrow," Ratchet said, his tone meaning the end of the discussion and no arguments. He nodded to Prime and added, "I suggest we use your 'trunk'. Now, get moving."

Prime nodded, following Ratchet's command. Everyone knew that Ratchet had free reign and if they argued, he would put them at the end of the line.

Or weld something shut.

"That was most intuitive of you," Prowl commented so only Sunstreaker could hear.

"Someone has to have our long term needs in mind," Sunstreaker sneered with a grin. "If I left it to those in charge, nothing would get accomplished."

Prowl opened his mouth to retaliate but Sunstreaker was already sauntering away to enjoy the last few hours he had left of freedom. Then he would be spending countless hours making up for the time lost while he so thoughtfully gifted his comrades with continued health. Not only would Sunstreaker take down an enemy and a take bullet for his friends, but he was willing to degrade himself to allow his friends access to parts to maintain their health.

The golden Lamborghini was one of a kind.

And he just put his fist through Gears' face.

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**Is it a wonder why we love him so?**

**Reviews are loved~ And remember... whoever gets 1500 gets a request. :D**


	88. Capturing the Sun

CAPTURING THE SUN

AN: CONGRATS to Dragonstormgirl for getting review number 1500! Her request will remain a secret until my muse talks and gives me something to use.

Now, if we can get to 2000, there will be open requests! *evil cackles* Oh, and I had someone to ask if they shared the story with others and its okay, I dont mind if you link them to it but please, dont copy and send so they dont know the author. I kinda like to keep my ideas if you dont mind. I work hard on these and coming up with something original isnt easy. I would appreciate the acknowledgement. :D

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'**Prowl?'**

'**Leave a message.'**

'**Ha ha. I know you're there.'**

'**No comment.'**

'**Do you love me?'**

'**No.'**

'**Aw, I know you do.'**

'**You are, as always, mistaken.'**

'**I'm hurt.'**

'**I'm beyond caring.'**

'**And mechs say you lack emotion.'**

'**I can care less what others perceive of me.'**

'**Well, I love you, just so you know.'**

'**And like all things that concern you, there is an ulterior motive with suspicious conditions.'**

'**Can a mech just love another? Without it being thought so one sided?'**

'**You're opportunistic and manipulative.'**

'**And now I'm offended.'**

'**It won't last long. You're also shallow.'**

'**You're losing my love.'**

'**Does that mean I get a divorce from this insanity?'**

'**Maybe, but I want custody of the kids.'**

'**You can keep your brother. I have no intention of raising him.'**

'**I heard that you two slaggers,'** Sunstreaker barked over the comm..

'**So, there's a witness.'** Prowl stated in his ever calm tone.

'**Enough of the jokes! Get us out of here!'** Sunstreaker yelled.

'**And where would 'here' be?' **

There were muted tones over the link, prompting Prowl to look up from his work and stare at the wide open door of his office. Predictably, there was no one there.

'**I'm sorry. **_**Where**_** are you?' **

'**Impound! Are you slagging happy?'** Sunstreaker snapped.

'**My enjoyment has no bearing on the situation.'**

'**Remember that little energy zap that Wheeljack gave us this morning?'**

Prowl had to bite back a groan at the memory. That morning Wheeljack had announced a new invention that couldn't go wrong. Just to prove his point he had touched the activation button. When nothing happened he did what any intelligent inventor would do.

He hit it.

With a whir and a sputter it emitted a single electric bolt. Right at the monitors where the twins were sitting for the morning shift. Both received a fairly decent jolt that set their plating rattling. After Ratchet knocked the engineer cold with a well placed wrench, he attended his two favorite patients. Much to his surprise there was no damage. A first for Wheeljack involvement and a rarity for the twins.

'**How did you get impounded?'**

Obvious question with a typical 'twin related' answer.

'**Before the movie we were driving around the street.'** Sunstreaker explained.

Prowl translated that to 'racing.' No doubt there will be tickets being issued in the Autobots designations and arriving within a few days.

'**When we both started to tingle…'** Sunstreaker said.

'**I wasn't complaining,'** Sideswipe interrupted.

'**The twinge turned into itching that turned into burning.'** Sunstreaker continued on. **'Then** **the pain.'**

'**By the time we realized it wasn't a 'good' feeling, we were already compromised.'**

'**Compromised? How so?'** Prowl asked.

'**All energy drained from our systems except primary functions.'** Sideswipe said.

'**No transforming.'** Sunstreaker clarified.

'**We can't speak.'**

'**Verbally.'**

'**Obviously comms is still operational but there's nothing else.'**

'**I feel like my battery was unhooked.'**

'**Our plating is numb.'**

'**So how did you end up in the impound?'** Prowl asked, still hesitant in contacting law enforcement to end the twins punishment.

'**Lost power, drifted to the curb, couldn't talk, move, transform, so the humans found us and the fragging wardens put us in the impound.'**

'**It's humiliating!' **Sunstreaker wailed.

'**And we can't feel anything.' **

'**And we really need you to rescue us.'**

'**And get Ratchet.' **

'**But don't warn Wheeljack we're coming.'**

'**And prepare our regular cell for the inevitable sentence.'**

'**Get us out of the slammer and bring us home!' **Sunstreaker snarled, at the end of his temperamental tether.

'**I will contact the necessary authorities to have you released,**' Prowl said finding the whole situation to be hilarious. Not that he laughed or found humor in his fellow Autobots suffering. But he did have a twinkle in his optic, a small smirk to his face plates, and a bounce to his steps as he entered the Command Center.

Jazz gave his friend a worried look and took a step back, feeling his plating itch in a way that meant Prowl was plotting.

"I need volunteers to collect the twins from a police impound," Prowl said, schooling his features so the others wouldn't know how happy he was feeling.

Several bots laughed, waving their servos to volunteer for the extraction team.

"Ratchet, I believe the twins are suffering from the after effects of the device Wheeljack hit them with this morning," Prowl said, noting the engineer's wide optics at the news before he disappeared. Probably to find somewhere to hide until the twins cooled their tempers.

"I'll knock some sense into them," Ratchet promised, a sadistic smile on his face.

"They are currently suffering from structural and neurological damage," Prowl said, hoping to convey the Lamborghini ailments. "They have lost all sense of touch and the ability to physically speak or transform."

"What did you zap them with?" Ratchet muttered, staring down the vacant hall where Wheeljack had disappeared.

"I'm going to!" Jazz put in, knowing the blackmail material of the incapacitated twins was just begging to be exploited.

"Don't you have duties to attend?" Prowl asked, cocking a brow ridge. He had assigned Jazz some datapads of work and had yet to see them returned.

"Rescue is more important," Jazz said, flashing that devilishly handsome grin that had been outlawed on Cybertron. "Reports can wait."

"You do realize if you intend on using the twins' current situation against them, they will retaliate?" Prowl asked, watching as Hound joined the group for Lamborghini extraction.

"Probably," Jazz said with a shrug, walking to the entrance e of the ARK with the motley rescue crew.

"Provoking the metaphorical dragon is not a wise move," Prowl commented while sending a request for footage so he too could enjoy the twins current predicament. "It is not in your best,_ physical_, interest to goad the twins into action."

"What can I say?" Jazz said, offering a cheeky look before he transformed. "I like challenges."

"Clearly you need less violent means of challenging yourself," Prowl muttered, knowing that when the twins returned to full health, the base and their comrades were not going to be safe.

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Sorry its short but you dont want freaking novels, do you?

Reviews are loved and make certain Lamborghinis preen. ;)


	89. Sidesaddle

Sidesaddle

IMPORTANT NOTE AT END!

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"You know why I called you into my office?" Prowl asked, setting his datapad aside and giving his companion his undivided attention.

Sideswipe leaned against the desk, striking a sultry pose, his engine rumbling in a suggestive manner. "You've been checking out the curves, right?"

"Get off my desk," Prowl deadpanned, waiting for the frontliner to straighten up. As always, it took a few corrections.

Sideswipe slid off the edge of the desk and spun, cocking his hip and flashing a promising grin over his shoulder. He gave his aft a little wiggle.

"And turn around," Prowl muttered, having been through Sideswipe extensive displays of suggestive poses on several occasions. He waited until Sideswipe was facing him before adding, "And if you open your interface panel, I will have Ratchet to weld it shut to prevent further stupidity."

Sideswipe visibly deflated. He crossed his arms over his chassis and rocked to one leg, giving the Second a bored expression.

"It's not like I'm equipped like a minibot," Sideswipe skulked, now giving Prowl a pouty look. "Haven't had any complaints thus far."

"Because they are incoherent with laughter," Prowl said, earning a twinge of pride at the stunned look on the Lamborghini's face.

"Snap my panel and call me a cyberslut," Sideswipe grinned, giving the Second a warmer reception.

Prowl ignored the request.

"Later. The reason you were called in is because the report you filled last week has some errors," Prowl said, giving Sideswipe his customary scowl of disapproval.

Sideswipe frowned, his processor working overtime. He went through his schedule last week and after three crosschecks, he distinctly remembered he didn't file one. There was a chance someone filed a report under his designation. Unlikely but stranger things have happened in the past.

"I didn't file any report," Sideswipe said, wanting to see the datapad that held the false record.

"Precisely," Prowl said, a doorwing twitching. "You were to file a report on the possible Decepticon involvement at the car show two weeks ago."

"It was a false alarm," Sideswipe said, adding a scoffing noise to partner his scathing look. It was a waste of time to report on something that didn't even lead to a gunfight or high speed chase.

"Nevertheless, we must properly catalog all possible Decepticon sightings and activities to calculate their next possible target," Prowl said, pulling a datapad from a stack and handing it to Sideswipe. "I expect your report at the end of the day. No short cuts. No vague descriptions. No slacking. NO excuses."

"But, I have the day off," Sideswipe whined, taking the datapad and giving it a look usually reserved for stepchildren. "I'm not supposed to do any work on my day off."

"Apparently you do not work on the days you are schedule to perform certain tasks, so on the whole, the two scenarios balance each other perfectly," Prowl said, pulling another datapad out for himself and turning on the screen. He waved his servo toward the door and added, "Dismissed."

"Well, if I'm going to work today then I want tomorrow off," Sideswipe said, stating his terms with a puffing of his body.

"Denied. You're scheduled for monitor duty tomorrow morning, which I know you will spend the majority of the time playing a card game," Prowl said, his focus now on two datapads that displayed privileged information. "So get this report finished now and you can fool around tomorrow morning on your regularly scheduled shift. Dismissed. Again."

Sideswipe offered a half hearted salute before opening the door. He was over the threshold when he heard Prowl's soft spoken voice add, "Cyberslut."

When Sideswipe turned back in astonishment, Prowl was typing on two datapads, his head swiveling between the two as he continued with his work. Sideswipe quirked a grin and shut the door.

"Oh, Sunshine of my life!" Sideswipe crowed upon entering the quarters he shared with his brother.

A paintbrush slapped him across the face, scarring it titanium white.

"Slag off, glitch," Sunstreaker snapped, his optics not bothering to look at his brother to assess the damage. He had performed the correction on his twin on many occasions. His aim with a brush was impeccable.

"But, I need some help,' Sideswipe said, waving the datapad. He ignored the white streak across his face.

"I am unqualified to provide mental health evaluations," Sunstreaker said, loading his brush and attacking the canvas with fervor. "Take it up with Smokescreen, but make sure he's medicated first. You already glitched him once."

"I knew that," Sideswipe said, annoyed. "But Prowl wants a report on that car show we went to last week."

"The one where humans believed Decepticons were involved?" Sunstreaker asked, the brush skimming the canvas and dancing a ballet with color. "And it was merely a ploy for one human to have his competition disqualified so he may take the prized trophy?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Sideswipe sighed. "Prowl wants a report on the incident and its up to you because I got distracted with that cute little Ferrari."

"Nice try," Sunstreaker said, turning to another pallet and mixing paint before grabbing another brush. "But I turned my report in that evening. So it's your report that is due. Not mine."

"Oh, come on, Bro," Sideswipe whined. "I'll do anything you want."

"I'm not getting saddled with your work any more than what I already do," Sunstreaker said, attention still transfixed by the blending of colors to the right degree.

"I'll give you a good polish," Sideswipe promised.

"Go away or I'll throw you bodily from the room," Sunstreaker said, giving Sideswipe a look to match the dark thrum in his spark. When Sunstreaker immersed himself in his art therapy, he didn't like to be interrupted.

"Please?" Sideswipe asked in a timid voice, his bottom lip plate sticking out in a pout.

"Out!" Sunstreaker snapped, jerking his head toward the door.

Sideswipe sighed and went to his berth, plopping down on its surface and falling strutless over the edge. "Fine! If my own brother doesn't want to help me, I can manage."

Sunstreaker's optics narrowed. When Sideswipe didn't provide any further comment, Sunstreaker returned to his painting. Five minutes later, Sideswipe developed a leak.

Sideswipe sighed so many times, Sunstreaker was sure all of his tires were losing their air. When he realized the source of the hiss, he slammed down his brushes and paints. Whirling, he marched to Sideswipe's berth, where he was typing with one digit on the screen, each letter being punctuated by a sigh.

Sunstreaker grabbed the datapad, opened Sideswipe's subspace pocket, shoved the pad inside, then physically lifted his twin from the berth. One servo clutched his scruff bar, the other slid into the transformation seam at Sideswipe's lower back. Deft fingers curled around sensitive wires and a sensor, making the ruby Lamborghini hitch up on the tips of his pedes to alleviate the tugging pressure jerking in his lower regions. Walking on pede tips he was escorted to the door and thrown through it, where he landed face first against the bulkhead. The door shut behind him.

Sideswipe groaned, rubbing his face where he had impacted the wall. He glared at the door and ventured toward the rec room. To his disappointment, there were only minibots occupying the room. Sighing in resignation, Sideswipe went to the dispenser, looking thoroughly miserable.

"Hey Sides! What's wrong?" Bumblebee called.

"Report for Prowl," was Sideswipe's sullen answer.

Several looks were exchanged but Sideswipe didn't notice.

"He's not looking for anything detailed," Windcharger put in, not liking the downtrodden look on the resident prankster. "Just make an effort and Prowl won't care."

Sideswipe offered a partial wave, looking like a mech going to his doom.

"Make it under fifty words," Bumblebee supplied. "Just put the highlights in there. That's it."

Sideswipe mulled over their advice, sequestering himself in the corner. He pulled the datapad from his subspace and frowned at it. Within a few minutes, inspiration struck and he set to typing, the minibots giving him distance and peace to get his work done. Two hours later, Sideswipe knocked on Prowl's door. Without waiting for an invitation he entered, planted the finished report in front of the stunned SIC and took his leave.

Not thinking the childish frontliner had taken his task to spark, Prowl activated the screen and read the report. It started out as any normal report on possible Decepticon sighting, but then it ventured into the realm of fast cars and a particularly _nice_ little Ferrari that was the showcase. Sideswipe detailed _every_ line and curve and mentioned the throttling of the engine and the power behind the pistons and what it must have felt like to feel such a thing under and around and by Primus, if Prowl didn't have to make an unscheduled visit to the washracks.

As Prowl stood beneath the spray he made a mental note that Sideswipe would be filling out a great many reports in the future.

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Yes, another short one and before I get more **PM**s saying, "Where's the rest of it? It could have been better if it was _longer_! I want an F'ing novel!" Please bear in mind, I get out what I can with time and stress willing. I **won't** be posting **at all** next week because as some of you are aware, my mother has a brain lesion caused by the flu shot and will have to go in for emergency brain surgery soon. She has doctor's appointments on the 11th and 16th to do the preliminary tests and scans before they schedule the surgery.

And a couple weeks ago when I whacked my hand on the door jamb I have inadvertently cracked the bone (middle knuckle of my right forefinger) so its painful to type for any length of time as the pain starts lacing up my hand from the break.

So, understandably, the chapters are a little shorter.

Thanks, and prayers for my momma would be appreciated.

Love to all,

PJ


	90. A Gifted Streak

A Gifted Streak

AUTHOR'S NOTE AT END.

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_**It was black,**_

_**It was dark outside. …**_

_**It was nighttime….**_

_**It was a rainy night….**_

_**The weather was bad for Lamborghinis…**_

Sunstreaker frowned, staring at the screen. This was a lot harder than what he thought.

Slag Prowl.

Slag Smokescreen.

Slag all Praxians! Well, maybe not Bluestreak. His sharp shooting skills had been extemporary as of late and Sunstreaker had been saved numerous scratches from Deceptions. Not to mention possible damage and termination. So, Sunstreaker was feeling generous. He was going to give Bluestreak some slack. And let him live. The other two Praxians?

They were scrap metal.

Prowl had decided to get creative since the normal punishment detail had no effect. Sunstreaker didn't think he was capable of such a feat. But the accursed doorwinger had finally done it. He had found Sunstreaker's flaw. That was another reason to terminate the slagger. Their punishment had Smokescreen's servo prints all over it. That was another reason to terminate the duo. They were in on it together. Sneaky fraggers.

Sideswipe was already performing his newest punishment detail in that he was Prowl's personal secretary. It was a title he loathed and the thrum of boredom had been Sunstreaker's companion all day. Now that it was evening, Sideswipe was in the rec room drowning his misery in high grade and Sunstreaker was left to tackle his own punishment.

Sunstreaker asked to swap punishment with his twin but Prowl had refused. Sideswipe was all in favor of the swap, but Prowl said it was to ensure that both learn a lesson. Well, Sunstreaker wasn't sure the lesson Prowl wanted learned but he was about to get a datapad shoved in an uncomfortable place.

The details of his punishment were just the broadstrokes, Prowl, of course, having very little imagination. It was Smokescreen who made the suggestion and the other Praxian fragger took it from there. Sunstreaker wasn't sure if Prowl was sadistic or a visionary. Either way, he was going to be terminated by Sunstreaker's servos.

Sunstreaker stared at the screen, seeing the little icon blink at him in doleful submission. Slagging thing. His fingers flew across the keyboard, trying it again…

"_**It was a dark and stormy night….." **_

Sunstreaker looked at the opening line, a brow ridge cocked. Well, if the slagger thought that making Sunstreaker take a creative writing course was going to be beneficial, he would be reminded on how diabolical the golden mech could be when provoked.

Originally Smokescreen had mentioned a good way to vent frustration was expressing oneself in a diary. Sunstreaker wasn't going to lower himself to write a diary, let alone one that was to be read by the SIC to ensure his punishment detail was paid in full. Not to mention, as the ships processor hacker, Smokescreen would be reading the diary as well.

Well, slag that.

Sunstreaker would never allow another an in-depth look into his thoughts. His personal thoughts were his own, and he'd be slagged if he shared such personal things to another. Even Sideswipe was blocked from some aspects, just as Sunstreaker was blocked from his twin. A person needed to keep some things to themselves, something that's personal and no other can know. The secret is what defines originality and personality. Having yourself open as a book to be pursued was not a fulfilling life. There was nothing extraordinary about the mundane and foreseeable ending.

No one likes predictability.

Which is how Prowl was able to throw the twins for a loop with their punishments. Sideswipe was to act as secretary to the SIC and perform some of his menial tasks and Sunstreaker as assigned to complete a creative writing course from some stupid human learning institution. The first assignment was to write a short story and Sunstreaker was finding the words evasive.

Particularly, because he didn't know **what** to write.

Well, if Prowl wanted to punish him, Sunstreaker would have to return the favor. With an evil smirk he set to typing.

_**The wind howled through the trees, causing their frames to creak and shudder. The wind raced to the horizon were it stilled into silence, the moon demanding the peace. As the moon wandered, the clouds gathered, blocking earth from sky. Keeping them separated, never to join together. The trees bent, pleading with the cloudy seas of battle grey and sooty air. The heavens rumbled in thundering silence, arguing with the earth. The moon watched, fearful, suspended above the battlefield, unable to see the two combatants at ground level. A cold spread, covering the land. A cold so deep, it made the bones burn in their fleshy frames, scorching from the inside out with icy fire. Voices lifted up, silent and shaming, screaming with the silence of the ages and scars long past. **_

Into the night Sunstreaker typed. Sideswipe came in sometime near midnight and passed out on his berth, his snores a symphony to Sunstreaker's devious mind.

When Sunstreaker left for his shift at the monitors the next morning, he handed the datachip to his twin.

"Give that to your boss," Sunstreaker said as he passed, tossing the chip to Sideswipe who barely caught it.

"What is it?" Sideswipe asked, following his brother out the door.

"My first and last attempt at writing a story for Prowl's amusement," Sunstreaker said, taking the left turn that lead to the command center. Sideswipe shrugged and turned right, going to Prowl's office.

Half an hour later, Sideswipe gave a flood of admiration and affection to his twin. Sunstreaker gave a jerk as the emotions hit him like a physical blow. He wasn't expecting them. He opened the private link he shared with his twin.

'**What?'** Sunstreaker demanded, wondering what crawled under his brother's plating and made him so happy.

'**Just wanted to let you know that your story was a big hit,'** Sideswipe answered. **'Prowl got through half the first page before he locked up, sputtering about illogical comparisons,'** Sideswipe informed his brother with another swell of laughter and pride. **'He cashed, Ratchet rebooted him, and when he came to, he babbled about conundrums and then keeled over again. Ratchet having to do a complete defrag and system reboot which knocks Prowl out of commission for the rest of the day.'**

'**Which means you're off,**' Sunstreaker said, feeling disgusted. He was stuck on shift for another few hours.

'**Don't worry, Bro,'** Sideswipe said, leaving the pile of datapads in Prowl's office and heading toward his own quarters for some much needed charge. **'I'll pay you back for the wonderful little distraction you provided.'**

'**No thanks,'** Sunstreaker said. **'It's because of you I was punished to begin with.'**

'**I had nothing to do with the chicken and barbed wire,'** Sideswipe said, somehow managing to keep a straight face. **'But there may be a downside you didn't count on.'**

'**Besides you being my twin?' **Sunstreaker quipped.

'**Nope,'** Sideswipe said, not catching the jibe. **'But Smokescreen wanted to have a word with you later today, after shift. He was rather impressed with your essay and wanted to talk about it.'**

'**Fragger,'** Sunstreaker growled, both over the link and verbally. Jazz gave him half a glance before returning his attention back to Tele-Trans reports. The crew was used to the twins' odd outbursts and one sided conversations. It was perfectly normal to hear one of them gripe about something and threaten thin air.

'**He said you have a talent,'** Sideswipe said, going to his berth and settling down.

"I'm going to beat his wings off," Sunstreaker said over the link and verbally, slamming the consol and causing the screen to jump.

Jazz arched a brow ridge and smirked. "Let me guess. Prowl?"

"And Smokescreen," Sunstreaker said, his expression dark.

"Just, make it look like an accident,' Jazz said with an air of nonchalance. "I really don't need the paperwork." He frowned, looked up, then added, "Actually, don't kill either. I don't want **any** paperwork. They terminate, and my workload doubles."

"No promises," Sunstreaker said, his hackles raising when Smokescreen pinged him.

'**If you want to talk about the stupid story then I will print it out and stuff it into your ports before setting them alight,' **Sunstreaker said without pleasantries. **'Then I will rip off your doorwings and beat you with them until you're nothing but a pile of scrap.'**

'**You have issues with rage,'** Smokescreen said, not perturbed by the threats. Though he made sure never to be alone while Sunstreaker was in this kind of mood.

'**Yes, I do and I enjoy it,'** Sunstreaker said with pride. '**And if you keep pestering me, I will show you a first hand demonstration. This lesson, as Prowl put it, is at an end.'**

'**Pity,'** Smokescreen said, knowing that Sunstreaker would be true to his word. **'Because I think your skills extend far beyond the canvas and that is something to be congratulated. But if you're content with invisible mediocrity, who am I to argue?'**

Before Sunstreaker could retort Smokescreen had cut the transmission.

Perhaps he should continue with his creative writing course? Who was he to deny his talent to such adoring public?

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Well, the prayers came through. I wanted to thank each and every one of you for all your wonderful messages. I have excellent news! The Neurosurgeon saw that mom was not put on ANY form of medication and he hit the roof! Apparently the lesion she has can be controlled by medications and he said it has an 80% chance of shrinking or even disappearing completely! He was furious the other doctors** automatically **wanted her to undergo surgery when all other avenues hadn't even been discussed. So, she's on medication to reduce the pressure in her skull and to help with the numbness, tingling, and pain that randomly crops up all along her body. She gets MRIs every three months to monitor it.

So... relief! We have been blessed and we're thankful every day.


	91. From Different Sides of the Track

**From Different Sides of the Track**

**AN: Sorry guys, forgot all about this week's update until I was literally crawling into bed. I had to buff up something I had been working on, off and on, just to get an update this week. Sorry if it isn't up to par. I'm just really busy at the moment working on several projects and functioning on 2-4 hours of sleep a night. **

**HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed. Those who were signed in, check your inboxes. :D**

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"Don't move," Sunstreaker said softly into the audio pressed near his lip plates.

A tremor went through the body held in his arms, a little whine escaping as the two shifted together.

"Just a little more," Sunstreaker whispered, wincing from the backlash of pain. "Stop moving."

The frame front of him twitched again, causing him to tighten his hold in response

"Hold still," Sunstreaker muttered against the trembling, overheating frame. Thin, elegant digits curled his plating, holding on for dear life. The grip faltered with waning strength. "It's okay. I have you. Just, hold still and don't fight me."

Bombs exploded, death fell as rain, acidic and burning and filling the air with a choking ash. The screams had died down along ago. Residual eruptions and fires broke out. There was the occasional shout that was soon followed by weapons fire. All in all, it was a horrible cycle and the twins wanted nothing more than to get back to base. Preferably in two pieces. At least the war wasn't directly overhead anymore. Now the battle front had moved on. The eye of the deathly hurricane had passed and now it was residual violence and mayhem left in its wake.

A wall crumbled, its death throes rumbling deep in the shifting plates of the planets metallic mantle, sounding like a giant groan of gears and protesting joints. Laser fire added a falsetto to the bass drumline of crumbling foundations and succumbing structures.

The twins had jumped into the fray as normal, all bellowing rage and infrared vision of attack. The Autobots were holding strong, until the Decepticons found a weak point and advanced. The Autobots were able to recover and push the Decepticons back but it had come at a price. Several mechs had been terminated; the one now held in Sunstreaker's arms a near casualty.

An errant ricochet had struck an invisible Mirage at just the right angle, knocking out his cloaking devise. Unfortunately he was dead center in the Decepticons territory and had been set upon by several mechs intent on killing him. They nearly had. Both of Mirage's legs had been severed below the knees and a blade had sliced neatly into his left side, shearing away half of his body. Had the blade went a couple inches to the right and it would have breached his spark chamber. Right now the only thing protecting the precious chamber was Sunstreaker's servo, which was lying protectively across the delicate systems.

Mirage twitched and jerked in Sunstreaker's arms, causing the golden mech to adjust his hold to prevent further injury.

"Relax, Mirage," Sunstreaker said softly in the Tower mechs audios. There was a chance he was already nearing a form of hyper stasis due to the shock of having his systems compromised so severely. Or it could be residual echoes from plating that was no longer attached and systems that were firing random bursts in the attempts to reawaken numbed areas. Or it could be that Mirage just wanted to dislodge his lifeline and terminate.

Sunstreaker couldn't tell.

He had lost his vision in an explosion, one optic was shattered, the other retained seventeen percent of visual acuity. Sunstreaker's only view of the outside world was through his brother's optics, which was on the opposite side of Mirage. Sideswipe was curled against the Tower mech's back; his own arm protecting Sunstreaker's that sheltered Mirage's exposed spark chamber. Sideswipe sported burns and torn plating, several circuits exposed due to the tears in the metal. His right shoulder was slagged, rendering him unable to hold a weapon. Now the only thing the duo could do was wait for the Autobots to advance and come looking for survivors.

The three had holed up in a jumbled mess of burnt building. The city had been evacuated when the Decepticons had dropped down in the middle of the town square while another unit set up in the nuclear facility on the edge of town. The humans scrambled for cover while the military attempted to keep them occupied until the Autobots arrived. The Decepticons had anticipated the Autobot maneuvers, holding strong to a nuclear power plant, knowing the Autobots didn't want to damage the sensitive structure.

Mirage shifted again as if trying to remove his two protectors, but the twins held on tight. Mirage's spark had started to falter, probably due to the damage and the inability to effect repairs and immediate shut down protocols. The twins did the only thing they knew. Sunstreaker, being an unfit lookout, grafted his lines to the Tower mech. Energon was controlled with a steady measure, Sunstreaker's systems calibrated to take on the physical strain of sustaining another life. Pressure lines were kept to acceptable parameters until help could arrive. The only probably was, Mirage kept moving, causing the patched joining to become loosened.

Since there was no way for Mirage to control his own spark signature, the faltering systems sending out random flares that could alert the enemy to their presence, the twins situated themselves on either side of the tower brat. Sunstreaker patched into his physical state while Sideswipe hooked a hardline connection into Mirage's access ports and working in perfect synchronization, they poised Mirage between them. The pulse of their shared sparks was enough to stabilize the wild fluxes, allowing the twins to extend their own energy field and dampen Mirage's signal as well as their own. If the Decepticons didn't look too closely, they'd miss the three hiding Autobots.

"Steady,' Sideswipe murmured against the back of Mirage's helm and through the link he shared.

Mirage wasn't able to formulate coherent thought, his body screaming for an immediate shut down it was unable to complete. Sideswipe wanted to help but not being a medic, he didn't know the codes to give the mech some peace. The only thing he could do was link to the Mirage's mind and share in his pain. It wasn't so bad when there was someone to share it.

Mirage fell lax in the arms that encased him. A pitiful whine issued from his frame, sounding like a sparkling who was in pain and wanted it to stop.

"Just a little longer," Sunstreaker said, hoping that something would signal their friends were near and it was safe to call out for help.

Leave it to Sideswipe to take it upon himself.

'**Ratchet?'** Sideswipe called over the comms.

Sunstreaker sent annoyance over the bond but it didn't do any good. The twins had Ratchet's own private comm. frequency. If they needed him, he was only a yell away. When no answer was forthcoming they resigned themselves to the fact that the cavalry had yet to arrive and they were stuck in their hellish tomb.

The trio remained silent for a long time, the sounds of war falling away. Mirage fidgeted, not being used to having two people, especially strangers, so close to him And the way their sparks thrummed in a taboo against his own was very off putting. It didn't feel right, but then again the sensation of razors dancing along his plating on the left side weren't normal either. Nor the cool air that caressed his exposed spark chamber. The intimate touch sent shivers through his frame but the two encasing him in their arms made sure he remained steadfast.

Mirage jerked, his spark faltering as systems shut down to conserve what reserves he had remaining. Sunstreaker fell into a lethargy, his attention centered on maintaining Mirage's systems. He was so immersed it took a few moments for him to realize the happy sensation filtering through the link he shared with Sideswipe. Mirage must have felt it too. He shifted, causing one of the connection hubs to break away from Sunstreaker.

"Slag it, you Tower brat!" Sunstreaker snarled in Mirage's audio, his servos abandoning their protective shelter over his spark to find the gushing lines and reconnect their life support. "Slagging, ungrateful, psychotic bratling!"

Sideswipe sent calm through the link he shared with Mirage, hoping to get him to settle down and allow Sunstreaker the chance to reconnect their systems.

"Sunny's just expressing how much he cares," Sideswipe said, grinning at his brother's blank snarl. "Ratchet's on his way, Mirage. Just, hold still and let Sunny connect."

The words worked their way into Mirage's tortured meta. With a sigh he relaxed in Sideswipe's arms, his body cold, numb, feeling ghosting touches that he assumed were Sunstreaker's attempts to reconnect their systems.

Sunstreaker grumbled, his servos able to find the disconnected tubes and with practiced intention, reestablished a link with Mirage. With a grunt Sunstreaker fell against the Noble, his systems taking the brunt of the firing signals. Several systems jockeyed for position, trying to stabilize pressure and lines in both bodies. Sunstreaker tensed, his arm draping over his brother's that had taken over protecting Mirage's exposed spark chamber.

"Easy," Sideswipe said, more to Sunstreaker than to Mirage. He could feel his brother's struggles to reestablish an even level to the damaged systems. It wasn't easy to sustain another's life.

'**Where are you idiots?'** came Ratchet's voice over his own private frequency.

The twins felt a wave of gratitude. They always tapped into the frequency, knowing when Ratchet really needed to find them, he would call out, knowing they were always listening for him. They may not listen **to** him, but they did monitor _**for**_ him.

Sideswipe sent out a distress beacon, relieved when Ratchet grumbled about a short ETA as he picked his way through the destroyed battle zone. When Ratchet found them he cursed fluently, earning a reprimand through the comms frequency as he realized he had broadcasted his thoughts upon finding the twins holding a severely damaged Mirage. Ratchet ignored the rebukes, shutting out the voices that either berated him or offered congratulations on a well rounded education.

"Keep him still!" Ratchet commanded, suturing along the edges of destroyed circuitry. He hardwired into Mirage's systems, sending out the shut down protocols to induce stasis. Mirage's consciousness gratefully brushed against Ratchet's meta before darkness claimed him.

Once Mirage was unconscious, Sideswipe removed two of his hardline connections, feeling as if he just emerged from a sweltering, choking pit filled with fire and ash. He sat back, his fans whirling on high to dispel heat that wasn't really there.

"You did good," Ratchet said without looking at Sideswipe. "You took enough of the pain to keep Mirage lucid and not suffer a damaged psyche."

Sideswipe nodded, trying to ward off the oppression that had lingered along his plating. He didn't realize how much torture he was enduring for the sake of saving Mirage's sanity. Had the Noble been forced to endure the suffering alone, there was a chance he never would have survived.

Sunstreaker opened his damaged optics, the one good one sensing a blob of white nearby that belonged to one of his all time nemeses. He could sense the pressure in Mirage's lines stabilizing, taking the burden off of his taxed systems and relieving some of the strain.

"You've done well, Sunstreaker," Ratchet said, removing a piece of heavy duty armor from his subspace to weld over the gaping hole in Mirage's side. "I just need you to hold still and keep Mirage stable until a transport gets here. He can't survive on his own while his systems are so weakened."

"I have him." Sunstreaker confirmed, finding his own HUD to be reading the stabilization of their dual systems. Warnings started to flicker out of existence as Mirage's systems started to operate on their own, forcing Sunstreaker's systems to return to their regular configuration.

When Mirage was transferred to a hoverberth for emergency transport, Sunstreaker was placed right beside of him. He grumbled at the mechs handling him and threatened them if they scratched his paint, unknowing that most of his body was covered in ash and blended with his primer. He was loathed to imagine the looks on the other Autobot faces as he was transported off, his arms wrapped around Mirage like a long lost lover. He would have to physically educate the gossiping slaggers lest the rumors spiral out of control.

Back at base, Sunstreaker was finally disengaged from the now unconscious form of Mirage. With a junior medic's assistance he was guided to a berth to await repairs to restore his vision. He lay on the berth, listening to the chatter around and allowed it to lull him into a deep charge.

The next time Sunstreaker onlined his optics it's to find his twin seated beside of him, his attention engrossed in a datapad. Sideswipe's outline was crisp, his plating pristine and shining to Sunstreaker's newly restored optics.

"How long this time?" Sunstreaker resisted the urge to lay his arm over his optics in resignation. He refused to look at his chronometer.

"Three days." Came the immediate answer, though Sideswipe didn't remove his attention from the datapad. "Ratchet patched you up right."

"How's Mirage?" Sunstreaker asked. It felt good not to sustain another mech's life.

"Stable and awaiting medical supplies to finish the repairs to his spark chamber." Sideswipe's optics remained focused on the screen.

"What are you doing?" Sunstreaker asked as he ran a full systems check. Just like every time after Ratchet's merciful care, he had a few unknown dents but a healthy operating system.

"I'm awaiting medical supplies as well, and as I can't move my right arm more than few degrees, I have been assigned menial paperwork," Sideswipe said, pushing the button to turn off the pad and look to his brother. "I'm Prowl's message-mech and I'm one more order away from ripping off his doorwings and gluing them on him as aft plates."

"That would improve his mood." Sunstreaker snorted. He got the mental image of Prowl twitching his new doorwing/aft plates in agitation. He actually snickered before schooling his features into a scowl in case someone witnessed his mirth.

Ratchet thundered into view, all spouting obscenities and professional bedside manners. He clocked Sunstreaker on the helm then graced Sideswipe with the same treatment before grasping Sunstreaker's chin to steady his helm while he shone a light in his optics.

"Slagger," Ratchet said as he checked the newly installed crystals and shutters. "Leave it to you to have specialized parts that require me to go out of my way to replace. The humans are stingy with their medical supples. You know that!"

"You look and sound like Ratchet." Sunstreaker's voice was confused. "But you're… green."

"Slagging figures," Ratchet muttered, retracting a tool from his forefinger.

"I think it's the envy." Sunstreaker deadpanned, halting Ratchet's progress.

"You're healed. Get your worthless chassis out of my med bay." Ratchet growled.

Sunstreaker offered a cheeky look as he rose, hopping off the berth. He ran his servos over his face, checking to see if there was any cosmetic damage. Luckily he was his normal, beautiful self. Though the scratches along his forearms would need attention.

"You'd be surprised what my chassis is worth." Sunstreaker called over his shoulder as he led the way to the exit.

"I don't have to guess." Ratchet snorted through his vents. "I'm responsible for the inventory and acquisition of parts for you ingrates."

"You love us and you know it." Sideswipe scoffed before he disappeared out the door. He missed Ratchet's rude gesture.

-{{_}}-

Two days later, there was a beep at the door, signaling a visitor. Sunstreaker grumbled as he went to the door. With a swish, Mirage was revealed framed in the doorway.

"What do you want?" Came the curt response.

"I wished to express my gratitude,' Mirage said, his voice as ever, cultured and measured.

"Forget it," Sunstreaker said, making a move to close the door but Mirage jumped, placing his hand on the edge, preventing its protraction.

"Wait!" Mirage shouted, surprising Sunstreaker. Remembering Sunstreaker's temper, and hoping to dispel it before it erupted, he continued. "I have something for you!"

Sunstreaker paused, his optics narrowing.

Mirage subspaced a can of wax and held it out. "I had Jazz pick this up for you. I know its not Iacon Electrum Elite, but it's all I could get."

Sunstreaker glanced to the can. It wasn't his usual brand. That was ordered through a dealership and reserved for the sleek masterpieces.

"Please?" Mirage's voice was low, contrite. "It's the least I could do."

Sunstreaker took the offered wax against his better judgment. But it wasn't like he couldn't use the wax. He did have a perfect reputation to uphold.

"Thank you," Mirage said, gaining a little confidence. It seemed unnatural for him to be so meek. "For saving my life. Ratchet explained if you and Sideswipe had not linked to my systems, I would have never survived."

"We do it for everyone," Sunstreaker said, now feeling uncomfortable. "It's not like you're special." Hoping to regain his normal surly disposition, he gave the former Tower mech a brief scan. "You know had this happened on Cybertron, you would owe me a **huge** amount of credits."

Mirage's expression went slack, ghosts forming in his optics. "The financial structure was slagged during the war and it's doubtful it will return to its once glorified existence."

"Not so glorious for some of us," Sunstreaker said with a scoff. His optics shone with deadly intent. "Had the roles been reversed, you wouldn't have done_ scrap_ to help me."

"At one time, you are correct." Mirage, ever the diplomat, looked greatly wounded. His face was grieved when he looked into Sunstreaker's optics. "But not anymore. With the fall of our home world and the decimation of our financial infrastructure, I am now ranked as any other. The power and influence I once held is now buried in ash."

"Not so easy when you weren't sparked in a shiny tower, is it?" Sunstreaker jeered. There had been many things he wanted to say to the simpering former tower brat. Now that they were alone and Mirage was in a passive mood, Sunstreaker wanted to strike another blow in the mech's pompous attitude and remind him how their lives had changed so drastically. With Sideswipe's wise investments, the twins had a rather hefty human credit account. "You never would have helped me or Sideswipe if he had fallen, thinking we were beneath you. And now, our roles are reversed. I have access to credits and you are left relying on others."

Mirage looked away, shame burning his face plates. "It is true. I would have allowed you and your brother to terminate because I did not deem you worthy of an existence." He closed his optics, holding back the memories but in the darkness of his thoughts, he could see them more clearly. He opened his optics to look into Sunstreaker's unwavering stare. "Now, I see mechs. All the same. All suffering. All built equally." He tensed his jaw, a somber look etching upon the former Noble's cheeks. "Now, all I see are…. People."

Sunstreaker stood frozen on his doorstep, unable to process what he was seeing and hearing. Before he could say anything else, Mirage offered a formal dip of his helm in polite dismissal and left, leaving behind a stunned Sunstreaker who was at a complete loss of words.

**{{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}}{{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}}{{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}}{{-}} {{-}} {{-}} {{-}}**

Reviews… loved! (Oh! Soundwave moment!)


	92. Hops, Skip, and a Streak

Hops, Skip, and A Streak

AN: Thank you Grace. Yes, the twins are a handful but that's why we love them. :D

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This one is a little longer. Broken finger is doing much better. Thank you to everyone who has sent well wishing and inquiries. Its still a little sore from time to time but now, its getting more difficult to keep up with everything. I'm currently working on a book to be published and hope to have it done by the end of November. It's a lot of work, folks. I get approximately 2-4 hours of sleep a night.

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"I'm glad no one can see us," Sideswipe said with an exasperated sigh. "This is humiliating."

"Think it's amusing from our perspective?" Starscream asked. "If my null ray was a little a faster, I could have ended this confrontation."

"With your tailpipes between your thrusters?" Sunstreaker taunted, wanting so badly to throttle the two seekers.

"Could this be any worse?" Sideswipe groaned.

"Shut up, jinx!" Sunstreaker snapped. He sent a glare to the white body in front of him that served as a surrogate for his brother.

"Huh?" Skywarp asked, looking at Sideswipe curiously. "What are you talking about?"

"Big mouth over there has a tendency to say slag that will come true to some extent," Sunstreaker said, looking away from Starscream's form. Against Sunstreaker's back and much to his hissing chagrin, Skywarp pressed.

"This was all your fault you idiot seeker!" Sunstreaker snarled toward his shoulder.

Skywarp growled in warning but his situation prevented retaliation. In fact, no one could move. All four were held completely immobile. Starscream hung his head from where he was stationed in front, pinned into place by a catwalk through his arm, pointing his null ray to the ceiling. The other null ray was pointed away and stuck inside a large, squat metal silo. There was a collection of walkways that bisected his body and one pede was implanted in the concrete floor. He knew from everyone else's frozen position that they were victimized as well.

Sunstreaker's pede was pressed against the back of Starscream's thigh. He was in the process of throttling the white seeker when Skywarp and Sideswipe collided with the two and the errant warp had sent them to this unknown destination. A tall piece of strange machinery was embedded in Sunstreaker's left side, his elbow bent to crown the top of the coppery cylinder with a conglomeration of tubes and pipes sticking out of it. It reminded Sunstreaker of a broiler he saw at a human establishment once. But that was much smaller than the monstrosity that kept him powerless from attacking two of his most hated enemies.

Skywarp had his back pressed against Sunstreaker, his right arm pointed downward and hidden somewhere inside the broiler type machine. His left leg was suspended in a metal network of pipes that ended in a short, silver looking tub that fitted his pede like an open top shoe.

Sideswipe had his hand and arm sticking out the other side of the wall behind him, the other hand was on Skywarp's waist as he had been trying to get a good squeeze hold on the enemy when he transformed. Sideswipe's fingers twitched, waving to the outside world that was beyond the stone wall behind him. He felt as if he was waving at traffic, if there were any. His audios hadn't detected any noise since their impromptu implantation. Near their waists, a metal mesh 'ceiling' was installed, preventing an accidental tumble if someone fell off the upper scaffolding of the catwalk system. Every mech was just relieved the embedded walkways were mid thigh and not in their interface panels. That could have been very uncomfortable. The crisscrossing catwalks bisected their upper torsos, forcing them all to pose in various positions, lest the metal grate on raw circuits and damage sensitive internals. All four were lucky Skywarp's warp field didn't reintegrate them with their spark chambers being pierced by any one of the lengths of metal surrounding them.

"If you two stupid Autobots hadn't ran into me, none of this would have happened," Skywarp griped, wanting to move but finding his body uncooperative.

"I wish my servos were free," Sideswipe said, glaring at the seeker. If Sideswipe drew back a couple of inches, he could slam his helm into Skywarp's chin. But he quickly squashed that idea. He wasn't in favor having a processor ache. "What exactly did you do anyway?" Sideswipe asked, struggling to get a better view of his surroundings. He couldn't see much past the seekers broad wingspan, but he knew his twin was on the other side.

"I figured out Earth's magnetic poles can give me a warp boost," Skywarp said, sighing in resignation. All four were secured and not going anywhere of their own accord. "I figured out that if I did several small skip jumps, it allowed my warp field to expand and the poles give me a little extra distance for one _big _jump."

"That's... ingenious,' Sideswipe said, giving the Con an appreciative look.

Skywarp felt himself smile but quickly morphed his expression into annoyance. "It's not like I was trying to impress you."

"So…. where are we?" Sunstreaker asked, looking around the facility as much as his predicament would allow. With Starscream fanned out in front of him, his wide white wings blocking out a good portion of Sunstreaker's vision, and with Skywarp pressed against his back, adding his black wings to the opposite side, Sunstreaker was effectively wearing blinders.

"I don't know," Skywarp admitted, looking around and finding his head limited to move due to a narrow catwalk that narrowly missed being embedded into his helm. His intakes had not been so lucky.

"Food storage or preparation, maybe?" Sideswipe guessed.

"It's not one of those places that stores that corn stuff, is it?" Skywarp asked.

"That's in silos," Sideswipe said, looking at the piece of machinery that sat dormant in the corner. Its operation was foreign to Sideswipe's knowledge.

"Good," Skywarp muttered. He seemed very unconformable. "I don't like those eye things looking at me."

Sideswipe arched a brow ridge. "What eye things?"

"On corn," Skywarp said, his lip curling in distaste.

"Corn doesn't have eyes," Sideswipe said, blinking at the seeker who looked genuinely terrified for organic plant material. "It's _potatoes_ that have eyes. Corn comes with ears."

"Ears, eyes… what kind of planet grows body parts in the soil?" Skywarp asked, giving a shiver of disgust that was ruined by the dividing wall, floor, and crisscrossing catwalks that were immobilizing the four Cybertronian bodies.

"Why would you be afraid of corn?" Sideswipe asked, frowning at the seeker.

"I'm not afraid of anything on Earth, you Autobot dolt!" Skywarp countered.

"Then why don't you_ like_ corn?" Sideswipe tried. "You know they make fuel out of it, right?"

Skywarp sputtered, his optics going wide as he stared into Sideswipe's optics. "What?"

"Oh, brilliant, grounder!" Starscream yelled from the opposite side of Sunstreaker. "Make him **more** paranoid!"

"I'm not paranoid!" Skywarp snapped, trying to turn around to berate his wing mate but the catwalk entrenched in his shoulder vent, preventing movement.

"He's afraid of popcorn!" Starscream snapped, then felt annoyance through the trinelink. Apparently that was information Skywarp didn't think needed to be shared with the enemy. Which was nonsense.

"Say again," Sunstreaker said, giving Starscream's back a cocked brow ridge. He hated having a conversation with someone's back, but it wasn't like either could sit down properly and have a conversation.

"Seekers can suffer from fuel bubbles in their systems," Starscream said, knowing the golden mech was ignorant to seeker biology. Starscream wasn't about to disappoint an uneducated mech. "When a certain type of injury is sustained, a seeker can emit noises that sound like popping corn."

"It means your sparks about to explode," Skywarp whispered, sounding scared.

Sideswipe grinned and emitted a series of pops and sizzles.

"It's nothing to joke about," Skywarp growled, his optics darkening from a painful memory.

"Sorry," Sideswipe said. It didn't occur to him he was comforting the enemy. Right now they were just four mechs. Stuck in a building, immobilized by structures and machinery and all due to an errant warper. Something seemed to become clear and Sideswipe looked to Skywarp, asking, "How would you know what popcorn sounds like? I thought Cons didn't interact with humans."

"Drive in theaters," Skywarp admitted. "I enjoy old human entertainment."

"_Noirs_," Starscream slurred the word like it was vulgar.

"I** like **them," Skywarp said defensively. He scowled, looking past Sideswipe's frozen form to see a collection of papers that had fallen from the wall that was laden with announcements. He frowned, zeroing in to the top papers, his expression confused as he asked, "What's a…. union?"

"Well, when two people really love each other…" Sideswipe started, earning an angered thrum from his twin that was counteracted by the sense of amusement.

"Knock it off you slagging moron," Sunstreaker growled. The vibration traveled along Skywarp's wings and made him shudder against the golden mech's back. Sunstreaker scowled, having to remember the audible anomaly for future reference.

Sideswipe snickered, which made Skywarp join in. Sunstreaker sighed in exasperation and glared sullenly at the broad expanse of white body and wings in front of him.

Starscream was turned, exposing his right side to Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker's artistic optic caught the hints of scars, much like the ones that adorned Sunstreaker's own protoform. But the small sigil upon the underside of the fuselage is what spoke volumes about the aerial commander.

"What is that, Starscream?" Sunstreaker asked, the pattern archaic but very beautiful. It mesmerized the artist.

"What, you dolt?" Starscream griped from where he hung suspended between human factory equipment.

"The mark, there under your right arm, where the fuselage joins to your wing," Sunstreaker said his optics zeroing in on the sigil. It wasn't noticeable unless you were right on top of it, Starscream's paint thick and hiding the ridges.

"None of your business!" Starscream shouted. His thrusters rumbled in agitation as he struggled to remove himself from the ironwork in which his trinemate had implanted them.

Realization hit Sunstreaker like an impact.

"It's a slave mark," Sunstreaker said, hearing Starscream hiss through his vents in anger. Skywarp made a gasp of surprise, his wing scratching Sunstreaker's back with the minimal movement. "That's what the sigil is. You had a master who branded you."

"Keep mocking me and you will regret it," Starscream growled, his voice low and threatening. It surprised the twins.

"You aren't the Wing Lord of Vos," Sunstreaker said, looking to the sigil and running a program. A similar pattern came up but it wasn't exactly the same. But close enough. "You were a _slave_ to the Winglord, _not_ his descendant."

"If you must know, no, I am **not** a descendant of the Winglord. He was terminated by my own hand at the start of the war, so I took his vacated position." Starscream snapped. "Go ahead and laugh, Autobot. Get it out of your systems for when I get out of here, I will slag you to the Pit!"

Both twins remained silent. Starscream berated himself at telling the two Autobots his darkest secret. But what could they do with the information that he was a former slave? After another minute, Sunstreaker spoke.

"Spark chambers."

"What?" Starscream asked, wishing he could turn and face his enemy instead of staring at the strange metal drums that lined the corner of the large establishment. "What about spark chambers?"

"The slaver who bought us, branded his designation on our spark chambers," Sunstreaker said, feeling shame and pain flood the link from his twin. Those long days of recovery had been the most painful they could recall. "We still bear his mark."

It was Starscream's turn for silence. He stared at the metal drums, trying to muster up something snide to say but nothing came to mind. It didn't seem right for one slave to berate another. They all had suffered at the hands of masters. The twins unruly nature made more sense now that Starscream thought about it. He himself was rather unruly, earning many a punishment from Megatron. Sunstreaker's voice drew him from his thoughts.

"I wish we had been able to terminate our master," Sunstreaker said with a dark scowl. "Slagger escaped off world when his own debts got too high and he ran like a tin chicken so he wouldn't be enslaved."

"Slagger," Starscream muttered.

Sideswipe grumbled something on the other side of Skywarp but no one could discern what it was. Skywarp, surprisingly, remained quiet.

"Do you know if he still functions?" Starscream asked. Normally he wouldn't care but it wasn't like he was going anywhere and he could at least keep a decent conversation going.

"No idea," Sunstreaker sighed. "But I would love to find out he functions, just so I can rip out his spark chamber."

"I'd rather reformat him as a femme and toss him to the Cons," Sideswipe laughed.

"Slag, that would be entertaining," Skywarp said, looking wistful.

"Or, I could just strip him of all armor and let him hang out at Wheeljack's lab," Sideswipe offered a lopsided grin. "Better yet, dress him like a drone and let Ironhide take a few shots at him. Or disable his vocalizer and give him to Bluestreak to talk to. Or come to think of it, Warpath needs to recalibrate his targeting system after I hacked him the last time. He didn't like the glitter, or the stickers."

"Enough, Sideswipe!" Sunstreaker snapped. Sometimes his brother wandered off topic. Sunstreaker vaguely wondered if they weren't related to Bluestreak in that aspect. Sideswipe was easily distracted.

"You are such a killjoy," Sideswipe sneered, sticking out his glossa toward Skywarp's chassis. Skywarp was grinning manically at his Autobot counterpart.

"You have to put up with pranks as well?" Starscream asked. He was getting tired of looking at the barrels and felt that he was having a conversation with them.

"Primus, yes," Sunstreaker said with a sigh of exasperation. "The things my idiot brother gets into. I'm surprised they haven't kicked us out of the Autobots!"

"Warp's come close a few times as well," Starscream laughed. "The beatings I've endured so Megatron doesn't send him to med bay…" Starscream halted, feeling his cheek plates flush.

Silence fell again.

Until Skywarp asked, hesitant, fearful. "What do you mean, the beatings you've endured?"

"Nothing," Starscream said. "Forget I said anything."

"The slag I will!" Skywarp thundered. Sideswipe flinched at the jet's violent outburst. "Who beat you? Megatron? Why would he do such a thing?"

"Let it go, Skywarp! **That** is an order!" Starscream snarled.

"Autobot, can you hit him?" Skywarp shouted, making Sideswipe wince.

"No," Sunstreaker said, having his entire body as immobile as the other three.

"Slag it! You wait until we're out of here," Skywarp threatened. "I'm going to get answers, Screamer!

"Stop calling me that!" Starscream snapped, sounding furious and annoyed.

Sunstreaker sighed, "You get stuck with horrible nicknames, too?" A jittery sensation was filtering from his twin, who wasn't used to being still for extended periods of time. Sideswipe was a mech of movement and motion. Stagnation grinded his gears, which in turn, made Sunstreaker surly. Sunstreaker hoped to distract both from their gnawing predictament.

"Obviously," Starscream grumbled, wanting desperately to move.

"Hey, Sunny," Sideswipe called, that cheeky look lighting up his optics.

As expected, Sunstreaker bristled, sending violent stabs through their bond. It only enticed Sideswipe further.

"I'm going to rip out your vocalizer!" Sunstreaker snapped vehemently. The tone and heated air vented from his systems washed over Starscream, making him shiver and in turn, made the catwalk system vibrate.

"I love you, Sunflower!" Sideswipe crowed, giving Skywarp a triumphant look.

The black jet was grinning like a fool, his excitement over finding someone just as devious as himself leaking over the trinelink and causing Starscream to sigh in exasperation.

"When we get out of here, you are terminated!" Sunstreaker yelled, his back grinding against Skywarp's and transferring their paint. Which only made Sunstreaker's ire quadruple.

Sideswipe flinched from the burning sensation in his spark chamber, wincing when Sunstreaker sent a powerful burst of annoyance. He forgot that Sunstreaker was just as adept at manipulating the bond as himself. If he got him too riled up, they'd give each other a spark attack.

"Settle down, Sunny," Sideswipe groaned, his vents cycling on high to dispel the boiling anger that was taking over his system.

"You okay?" Skywarp asked, concerned over his enemy's change in attitude.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Sideswipe grumped, looking away. He didn't like to admit weakness and having one of his most favorite enemy's see him at such a vulnerable time grated on his nerve circuits.

"Is it true you two share a spark bond?" Skywarp asked, oblivious to the fact that such a topic was rather taboo. He never seemed to understand the subtleties though.

"Split spark and before you say its abnormal, we already know," Sideswipe said, wishing he could rub the plating over his spark chamber. The neural net was twitching like mad. "We've heard it all and quite frankly, its boring."

"I think it's cool," Skywarp offered, shuddering the catwalks when he tried to shrug. His vents gave a sickening screech as the metal they were sharing started to protest the movement.

Sideswipe offered a half smile. It was beyond weird to be having such a normal conversation with the seekers.

"I hear something," Skywarp said, looking past Sideswipe to the brick wall beyond. "It sounds like engines."

"Oh, thank Primus!" Sunstreaker hooted. "Ratchet can get us out of here and make sure my parts didn't get damaged!"

"How do you know it's Autobots and not Decepticons?" Starscream asked. He could hear a faint rumbling but it was still too far away to discern faction.

"Do either of you activate your homing beacons?" Sunstreaker asked, suddenly feeling very superior.

"No," Starscream answered.

"As soon as we ended up here, we initiated ours so our friends can find us," Sunstreaker said smugly.

"We did?" Sideswipe asked. He gave Skywarp a look that clearly meant he had been unaware of such a thing.

Sunstreaker sighed at his brother's idiocy. He really was going to terminate him one of these days. But right now the engines were getting closer.

"Grounders," Skywarp said, discerning the engine noise.

"Doubtful Megatron would send any of his forces to come and look for you," Sunstreaker said. "He rarely contacts us when you've been captured, so there's a slim chance for him to care now."

Starscream scowled but didn't offer a retort. He knew the Lamborghini was right. If it were up to Megatron, the command trine would have been slagged many times over. He wouldn't have batted an optic. That was another reason to hate the warlord.

There was the sound of transformation outside and after a minute, the wall crumbled behind the metal vat to reveal a black and white chassis.

"Why am I not surprised that the two of you ended up in a brewery?" Jazz asked, pushing against the wall. It toppled into pieces, the bricks clanging off the metal tubs. Obviously it had sustained damage in the past and had been abandoned for safety reasons.

"Is that what this place is?" Sunstreaker asked, looking at the squat tubs and barrels.

"Any CPUs or spark chambers compromised?" Jazz asked the four mechs.

All four answered negative, which was received with a caustic relief.

"No severe damage? I am shocked!" Ratchet barked, having Ironhide to punch a hole into the brick wall where Sideswipe's arm poked out. "You wait until you fragging morons get a clean bill of health. You're going to wish you had ended up slagged!"

"Is he always like that?" Starscream muttered so only Sunstreaker could hear him

"Yeah, he always knocking some sense into us," Sunstreaker answered with a sigh, feeling a flood of elation and giddiness over the bond that meant Sideswipe was close to be freed from his state of immobility. "It never works though. We never learn."

"I'm starting with the red idiot first and I'll work my way in," Ratchet barked, withdrawing an arc welder and cutting through the intricate network that speared Sideswipe's frame. "No one move or I may slip and melt something off."

"Please, Ratchet! Not my favorite part!" Sideswipe wailed like a child being denied a toy.

There was a resounding clang that was instantly drown out as Ratchet returned to work, Sideswipe dazedly staring off into space. Skywarp watched with fearful amusement, hoping the medic could extract him without beating him. He knew from years of battle that the Autobots had a tendency to be smacked around by their medic. This encounter was just one of many such incidents. There was a chance he'd earned a few smacks with the assorted tools.

Sideswipe was freed and escorted to Perceptor, who had tagged along to run integrity scans on frames to assess the level they were compromised.

"Alright you warping slagger," Ratchet said, brandishing a wrench like a sadistic demon. "You try anything while you and Starscream are still integrated and I will shove this wrench in a very uncomfortable place."

"It's okay!" Sideswipe yelled, waving to Skywarp. "No big deal! You can walk in a day or two."

Ratchet sent a glare to the Lamborghini which instantly quailed him.

"Am I going to have any problems with you?" Ratchet asked like a stern caretaker to a disruptive youngling.

Skywarp meekly looked down. "No. I've learned my lesson."

"We shall see," Ratchet groused as he started to work extracting the jet.

When Skywarp was free, Sideswipe waved him over to where Jazz, Huffer, and Ironhide were standing by, weapons drawn as a precaution. Skywarp bounded over to the Lamborghini and placed himself on the ground indicated and held still while Perceptor ran his scans.

"Ratchet, do you have a tarp or something to drape over me so no one can see the scratches that insane black jet put on me?" Sunstreaker asked as Ratchet set to work.

"No, and you're not hiding like a celebrity," Ratchet said, carefully cutting around Sunstreaker's helm fin. "And all of you are not to transform until I'm able to remove all the embedded metal from your frames."

"Then how are we supposed to get home?" Sunstreaker gasped, aghast that anyone could see him looking less than gorgeous.

"Prime's on his way," Ratchet said, unperturbed by the sputtering Lamborghini. "And all of you are riding in his trailer until I'm sure you can transform without damaging yourselves." He glanced over Sunstreaker's shoulder to Starscream's back. "And that includes you seekers. I'm not sending you back to a place that probably won't care if you have abrasive metals integrated into your systems, and will more than likely refuse to assist you in the process of removal."

"You are correct," Starscream said. He had been strangely quiet while the other's had been extracted.

Sunstreaker frowned at the docile seeker. Usually the "Great Screamer" would be abusing everyone's audios but he had barely spoken.

Sunstreaker was released and immediately pulled out a polishing clothe and set to work removing the scratches he could reach. He'd get his twin to do his back before he murdered him.

"You going to cause any trouble?" Ratchet asked, his hand going to the middle of Starscream's back to alert the jet to his proximity. They may be enemies but Ratchet still remembered protocol when it came to approaching a jet from behind. As a subspecies they were very skittish and could become paranoid.

"Not currently," Starscream said evasively.

Ratchet frowned but started to work anyway. Like with Skywarp, he made sure to cut a wide enough swatch around the wings to prevent damage to the sensitive appendages. When he extracted the metal framework, the seekers would be unconscious, their sensors turned off to allow Ratchet to work in peace. He knew seekers were notorious for struggling when something potentially dangerous was near their wings.

When Starscream was extracted he walked from the brewery, his wings held high though there were three sections of a catwalk sticking out from the white plating. Skywarp motioned to his trine leader to join him with Perceptor for an integral scan, but Starscream bypassed the timid microscope and approached Prime, who had arrived with Tracks, Trailblazer, Bluestreak, and Huffer as back up in case the Decepticons came looking for their jets.

"Prime! Do you honor the code of conduct of the Senate?" Starscream asked, stomping up to the surprised semi. He studiously ignored all the weapons trained at his body.

"Some, but I do not agree with all," Prime said slowly, trying to gauge where this conversation was headed.

Starscream's optics narrowed, his ever brilliant mind running variables and calculations that could give Prowl a run for his credits. After a minute of silent scrutiny, Starscream spoke.

"Would you honor a request for asylum and provide sanctuary to those who no longer wish to fight?"

No one spoke.

Skywarp's mouth was hanging open. Both twins stopped their polishing to stare dumbstruck at the audacious jet.

"I would," Prime said after a long moment. His optics were narrowed suspiciously. "But first I must ask the reason to the sudden change of spark."

"I've come to realize the war is now moot," Starscream said, crossing arms over his chassis and flinching when he encountered a metal mesh that still hung out of his plating. "We joined Megatron's campaign to evict those in power and create a more balanced caste system. That has been accomplished with the termination of your predecessor. Now, Megatron only wishes to rule an empire and he has no inclination to share such a position."

Sideswipe frowned. Sunstreaker returned to his polishing.

"Previous history has proven that Megatron holds no value toward our existence," Starscream said, nodding toward his trinemate. His processor was filled the numerous times he had been beaten because Skywarp played a practical joke. Or when Megatron simply needed to blow off steam and employed his favorite pastime of trouncing his Air Commander. "Why should we remain loyal to someone who obviously thinks so little of our worth?"

Skywarp rose to his pedes, making several of the Autobots start. They trained their weapons between the two seekers but it was obvious, both were intent on each other and their enemies were long forgotten. Prime held up his hand to stave off any Autobot intervention. This was something that had to be worked out between trine members. Skywarp walked slowly to his trine leader, his expression unreadable. "How many times has Megatron beat you for what I have done?"

Starscream narrowed his optics but quickly lost his back strut. He looked away, ashamed. "Enough, Skywarp. It's in the past."

The Autobots exchanged raised brow platings and open mouthed gasps at the announcement. There were not privy to the conversation held prior to their arrival.

"Answer me!" Skywarp demanded. His voice rolled through the air in a perfect imitation of Thundercracker's signature move. "I didn't forget what you said when we were stuck in that building. Tell me, Starscream," he accented his leader's full name to reiterate his point, "_how_ many times have you taken punishments that were intended for me?"

"Now is not..." Starscream started but Skywarp had gained his side and grabbed his shoulder vents, jerking the white jet toward him to where their faces were hovering inches.

Skywarp's optics were blazing as hellfire as he snarled, "How many times?!"

"Hundreds," Starscream gasp in shock and pain. Skywarp's fingers had found a sensitive place that had been compromised by the metal framework of the brewery.

"Hun... _hundreds_?" Skywarp repeated, sounding aghast.

Starscream offered a partial shrug that was reigned in by Skywarp's hands that still gripped his shoulders.

"Why would you do such a thing?" Skywarp asked softly. Suddenly all the times Starscream had crawled into their quarters, beaten, broken, bloody, and thoroughly defeated, all came rushing back. Why did he not see it before? How could he have been so blind to his trine mate's suffering at the hands of the mech he considered such a great leader?

"I am trine leader," Starscream said simply. "It is my job to ensure that you and Thundercracker are safe."

Skywarp stood agape, unsure what to say. His processor was having a hard time reconciling what had been done unknowingly to his leader and that he himself had been the cause of a lot of pain.

"Starscream?" Prime interrupted. He waited until Starscream locked gazes before continuing, "If you wish to defect, I will honor your request of asylum."

"Great," Sunstreaker groaned, rapidly polishing his lower back to remove the scratches from Skywarp.

"Awesome!" Sideswipe crowed, jumping up and looking excitedly to Skywarp. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that the two were going to join forces and terrorize the base. One could see the ruby demon scheming from the end of the universe!

"No sudden movements you numb nuts!" Ratchet barked, striking Sideswipe on the back of the helm with a well placed wrench. Sideswipe's optics crossed before he collapsed to the ground in a chirping heap.

"I promise not to physically reprimand any of you," Prime put in with a sigh. His expression quickly turned apologetic. "I can not, however, make the same promise of my medic."

Ratchet stood triumphant over Sideswipe's inert form, his optics gleaming at the two seekers. Sideswipe may have found a pranking brother in arms but Ratchet had set his sights on two more potential pains in his aft. He didn't count Thundercracker as he seemed to be the only one of the trine who functioned with all his mental capacity. Starscream and Skywarp? They were trouble and chaos. Just like a certain Lamborghini pair. Ratchet knew his workload was going to double. Again.

"I doubt your medic could inflict the damage Megatron could unleash," Starscream said. He meant it to be a variable comparison but Skywarp felt the words like a barb to his spark. He sent a pulse of affection toward Starscream and vowed to himself to never endanger his trine leader again.

"Alright, enough yapping," Ratchet snapped, jerking his head toward Prime's awaiting trailer. "Everyone get inside and try not to be careful with your added ornaments. Unless you want internal damage, then by all means, make my work even harder to save your slagging lives."

Ratchet wandered away from the assembled mechs still grousing in his usual surly manner. Sunstreaker sighed, grasped his unconscious brother by the scruff bar and dragged him into Prime's trailer.

"What of Thundercracker?" Skywarp asked as Prime escorted the two jets to the oblong transport.

"I have already contacted him via the trinelink," Starscream said, glancing to Prime and adding, "He will be waiting for us one mile from the ARK."

Prime nodded, grateful that Starscream had the incentive to contact his wing mate and have him wait at a safe enough distance from the base so Red Alert wouldn't pitch a fit.

"That was most wise," Prime put in, earning a strange look from Starscream.

Reluctantly the two jets entered the cargo hauler, their wings twitching as they realized the size of space they were to be confined in. Sunstreaker turned on a small set of lights that were set inside the walls. The seekers relaxed but only marginally. It was going to be a long ride. Hoping to dispel their anxieties, Sunstreaker took a page from his brother's prank book.

"Do you know what would be really funny?" he asked his two companions to distract them from the fact that the back of the trailer closed and Prime was preparing to move out.

"What?" Starscream asked, his voice lacking any sarcasm. He could feel the trailer shift and Prime pick up speed.

"I think it would be hilarious if my brother woke up in the arms of a seeker." Sunstreaker looked between the two, then to his still unconscious twin.

Skywarp cottoned on faster than what one would have expected. Giddily he grinned and scooted over to Sideswipe's unconscious form and pulled the red Lamborghini into his arms. He cradled Sideswipe to him like a child. Sunstreaker had to take several stills, fully intent on torturing his brother with the evidence later.

Halfway to base, Sideswipe was roused from his forced charge. His optics shuttered several times, the lenses focusing in the dim lighting. He felt a body pressed against him and a spark skipping happily near his audio. He frowned when he noticed the erratic pattern, thinking his brother was going to need a merge to stabilize his spark again. He opened his optics to find Skywarp's face above him.

Skywarp smiled in a way that said he was a sated, happy jet, his engine rumbling in a purr when he noticed Sideswipe's return to consciousness. He traced Sideswipe's cheek with a tender touch, his optics half shuddered, his voice low and sensual.

"Good morning, Beautiful."

Disoriented thanks to Ratchet's heavy wrench, Sideswipe let out a scream and flew from the seeker's arms. He scrambled in the semi-darkness, trying to get away from the black jet who had his arms open wide, and a lecherous grin on his face.

"Come on, baby, give me a kiss," Skywarp purred suggestively, advancing on the now terrified Lamborghini who started to peel paint with his vocabulary.

Prime grunted, trying to keep the trailer on the road with a squalling Lamborghini and amorous jet rocking the trailer violently in an effort to upstage the other. He pulled over in time for Ratchet to come along side and transform, prepared to do his own damage to whoever was causing the violent ruckus in the trailer. He paused when he heard Skywarp declare his undying love for the sexy sports car and Sideswipe screaming for the jet to not bring his lip components anywhere near him. The sounds of Starscream and Sunstreaker laughing brought the situation into focus and with a sigh, Ratchet transformed and lead the way back to base.

"Primus, why me?" he grumbled as Prime tried to keep pace with a constantly rocking trailer swaying behind.

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So, what do you think? Different or has it been done before? Entertaining or am I grasping at straws?

Thoughts?


	93. Flip Side

Flip Side

AN: AU/Parallel... PLEASE dont kill me for this one. Its a little different than the norm.

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Jazz felt his shoulders grind, the sockets threatening to dislocate with a horrendous screech. He groaned, feeling his consciousness drift in an out. He was held immobile against the wall, his arms distended, his legs shackled into place on the floor. He was mounted like a trophy, and Primus help the mech that believed Jazz was something to be pinned to the wall and admired.

His joints were aching, his vision obscured by a bright light hovering over his head. Pain radiated throughout his body, signaling a testament to his concurrent fight and abduction. Now, he was sequestered somewhere in the depths of a Con facility.

His locator beacon had been disabled. His comms. were blocked, probably Soundwave's doing, and one audio had been ripped from the side of his helm.

His legs were useless, the knee joints having been disabled by a very practiced saboteur. Whoever was going to be doing his interrogation was good. It was the same tactics that Jazz himself used when questioning Con spies. Course Prime always held Jazz's servo in check, never letting him get _too_ involved with his captives and doing some unspeakable, and unforgiving things. Jazz was never allowed to venture down that road. He was secretly glad the Prime had such convictions. Jazz would have to hate to lose himself in the misery of another. It was an easy path to follow.

His gyros recalibrated, giving him partial control over his helm. He lifted his head, feeling a grinding sensation along his spinal strut that meant he had structural damage. Errors messages were sporadic across his internal HUD, the codes long and streaming.

The room was brightly lit, affording a view of the four walls and the tables. Jazz felt his tank clench, noting a black and white frame perched on top of one of the tables. He knew that frame. The doorwings were a dead giveaway. They lay flat against the berth, their edges crinkled with damage. Jazz winced, knowing Prowl was going to be in a foul mood. He noted the burnt edges to the Praxian's pedes, the soles showing considerable electrical damage.

"Hey, Prowl," Jazz whispered, his voice cracking twice before carrying the distance to the inert form on the table. "Prowl, can you hear me?"

Prowl remained motionless. There was a trail of crusted energon that dripped from the edge of the table and pooled on the floor. There was a high probability that Prowl was in stasis due to trauma.

Hoping for other options, Jazz turned his head to the right. His neck protested, several gears grinding in a way that meant at least two were dislocated from their main grooves and needing realignment.

Ironhide hung limp from the wall on the right. His body was cast in dismal lighting, making it difficult to judge his physical status. But if the pool of pearly energon below him, and few removed armor pieces were any indication, Ironhide was in just as dire straights as Prowl. Both would need Ratchet's expert care. And probably soon. Jazz wondered how much damage the weapons master had taken before going down. And with the puddle beneath him, it must have been substantial. It was up to Jazz to affect a rescue.

If only he had some help.

With great effort Jazz turned to the left. It took a moment for his optical band to focus on the two forms hanging from the wall opposite Ironhide. Both were crumpled in submission. Dark glistening pools resided under their pedes, signaling energon loss. And with the size of the puddle, it was another grim diagnosis.

Jazz looked to Bumblebee and Mirage, hoping for some signal of consciousness. Bee was missing a leg and Mirage was almost severed in half. Both were motionless and with the damage received, probably in stasis lock as well. With such trauma came the inevitable stasis lock to prevent loss of life.

Which meant that Jazz was alone.

Jazz sighed. Their attacker knew them well. He wondered and cursed the one responsible for his friends disfigurement and obvious torture when he heard the unmistakable sound of Cybertronian feet. The sound was distant, muffled and sounded like it was coming from overhead. With a pained grimace, Jazz looked up and gasped more from surprise than stinging pain from dislocated gears.

The ceiling was made of glass, allowing a viewing audience to watch the proceedings in the room. It was like an operating theater the humans employed to educate their doctors. Jazz felt his tank lurch, watching as Megatron took prominence, his hellfire optics leering into the amphitheater. Beside him was Soundwave and Starscream and must to Jazz's horror, Optimus Prime was held in the Air Commander's grip.

Jazz swore softly to himself. If Megatron was here and Prime was captured, and with all the damaged bots that surrounded him, that could only mean one thing.

Shockwave was there.

His experiments were notorious, Jazz having seen first hand some of the damage the deranged mech could do. And if Shockwave was in residence, that would explain why Ironhide, Mirage and Bee were in stasis.

Jazz steeled himself up. He wouldn't allow the crazy scientist to break him. He had been captured before with no luck. He wouldn't go down peacefully. He intended on fighting to the bitter end. He just hoped someone would be able to assist Prime in an escape.

A speaker burst static before Megatron's voice boomed out.

"Witness your precious Autobots, Prime' Megatron was saying, leering over at the broken Prime and reveling in his enemies suffering. "They suffer because of you."

"Let him go, Megatron," Jazz shouted, his voice lending strength his physical body didn't possess.

"Oh, I believe I will keep him around," Megatron said, gracing the captive with a supercilious smile. "There are plenty of Autobots left for him to witness their demise."

"Don't do this Megatron," Prime pleaded, his voice sounded weary and defeated. One optic was shattered, a slave collar glowing around Prime's neck, keeping him weakened. "You've won. There is no need for this torture."

"Oh, but what would be the fun in your defeat, if you didn't get to sample all the delicacy that you abhor. The talent that was at your disposal and you never exploited it. The talent you had sitting among your ranks and you never thought to nurture it, to hone it, or wonder why it remained so docile upon your command."

Jazz wondered what Megatron's delusional mind was prattling about when the door opened. A black figure entered, his armor glinting as obsidian. Jazz felt a pang of familiarity, but couldn't quite place the sleek black lines, the chrome accents, the polished build. It was the decorative slats on the side of the helm that sharpened Jazz's blurred vision. Jazz paused. He knew that frame. Knew it anywhere. His suspicions were confirmed when a second frame entered the room, standing equal distance from the black mech. Jazz let out a gust of relief.

Sideswipe stationed himself by the door, his sleek armor the color of spent human blood. The deep carmine armor gave the aspect of the mech bleeding out, his movements causing the flow that meant an end to a life.

Jazz felt a pang in his spark, noting that Sideswipe's optics were white, just like the crest upon his chest. Jazz frowned, staring at the Con sigil up on the bloody armor, its usual purple mask now colored the essence of a ghost. Sideswipe's expression didn't change. He stared blankly at Jazz.

Sunstreaker moved to Prowl in slow silent steps. Jazz watched as the now black armored mech approached one of his most taunted friendly enemies, his expression neutral as Prowl's own.

"Sunny?" Jazz asked, his tone soft and worried. He knew Sunstreaker didn't like the nickname, but instead of his usual snarling objection, the black armored mech gave half a glance to the captive before returning his attention to Prowl.

Jazz watched as the black armor moved in fluid grace, leaving no doubt that it was Sunstreaker in disguise.

"Sunny, you have to help me. Prime's been captured," Jazz whispered, hoping to see some signs of recognition from the formerly golden warrior.

"I know,' Sunstreaker said in a flat one, his fingers working along Prowl's upper body.

Jazz hoped Sunstreaker knew what he was doing. He had a feeling Prowl would be berating him for taking so long, allowing the capture. And not following proper protocol. Even in a dangerous situation Prowl would still be spouting proper protocol and chastising the twins for not following direct orders. Sometimes, the mech could be insufferable.

"You have to help me," Jazz said in a low voice, hoping it wouldn't carry to the microphone or the speakers.

Megatron offered a laugh, cold and harsh, letting the saboteur know he'd been overheard. The sound made Jazz's internals run cold. It was beyond heartless. It was cold, cruel, and coming from the very bowels of the underworld itself. It made your life freeze in your veins and your soul recoil from the icy invasion.

"I can't do that," Sunstreaker said, continuing his manipulation of Prowl's inert form. "You see, I don't take orders from you any more."

"Come on, mech," Jazz urged, straining on his bonds and feeling his shoulders threaten to dislocate. "I'll give you whatever you want. High Grade. Expensive polish. Distract Prowl."

Sunstreaker turned his blood red optics toward Jazz, causing the saboteur to still his actions, his spark turning cold. The ghostly white crest of a Decepticon sigil was upon his chest. With a sadistic smile Sunstreaker lifted his hand, causing Jazz to stall.

Prowl's helm was suspended from Sunstreaker's grasp. Wires and cables were freed from their housing, Prowl's optics were lifeless, his mouth open in a silent scream, frozen in a horrified expression.

"There is nothing you can offer me," Sunstreaker said, dropping the mangled head to the floor. It bounced with a sickening thud. "You see, all this time, you boasted of being the best the Autobots' ever had. Your skills were legendary. You ego, as inflated as you assumed mine to be. Yet, you and the others never saw what was right under your olfactory sensors. What was right in front of your optics, staring at you every day."

Jazz felt his tanks churn with acid. The look Sunstreaker wore scared the oil out of him. He never saw such sadistic joy in another mech's face before. Not even Megatron wore a mask of such jubilant malice.

"Sunstreaker?" Jazz whispered, his optics tracing the handsome face, looking for some signs of recognition. Some sort of clue that this was a farce and that the clever frontliners were enacting a scene to allow an escape.

There was no such sign. No signal for a ruse.

"After all your boasting, your achievements, your accolades from Prime, you and everyone else missed an important clue," Sunstreaker said, taking a few steps toward Jazz, his hellish optics boring into icy blue without hesitation. "That you had Decepticon spies hidden within your midst. Two spies who watched every move, learned your habits, your weaknesses, and began the campaign to end your existence. You were deceived. The 'master of disguise' was outsmarted by those he believed to be untrained and unruly."

Sunstreaker braced his hands on either side of Jazz, their olfactory sensors nearly touching. Jazz cringed from the chill that emanated from the black frame. It felt like he was being encased in black ice to be entombed in the depths of isolation.

"You see, Jazz, you were outsmarted by those you believed to be to immature to pose a threat," Sunstreaker said, his head canting as he exhaled cold gusts across the black and white frame.

Jazz's answer was cut off as Sunstreaker slipped his fingers between the seams of Jazz's abdominal armor. His wriggled his fingers then jerked his hand, causing a piece of armor to go flying across the room.

Sideswipe stood impassive by the door. A perfect statue, reminiscent of Prowl, who Jazz was certain was terminated before Sunstreaker's defiling of his frame.

"Oh, you are going to be _fun_," Sunstreaker muttered, almost nuzzling the saboteur.

Jazz refused to cry out. The sound would only incite his tormentors, not to mention it would be like stabbing Prime through the spark. He hated to hear someone suffering. Jazz wouldn't let his superior down.

But there was something in the way that Sunstreaker hovered. The cold air, the delicate, almost sensual caresses he bestowed on the black and white frame. It sent a shiver all the way into Jazz's soul. He could feel his spark whither. A part of him knew that Ironhide, Mirage, and Bee had shared the same fate as Prowl. He just tricked himself into believing they were alive and could be of assistance. He looked into the raging fire of Sunstreaker's optics, seeing into the depths of his soul.

The all consuming rage that fueled his anger and his temper were burning bright. He was allowed to reach his maximum potential. He was allowed to become what Prime feared he would. There was nothing to hold him back. There was nothing to stop him.

Jazz knew that once Sunstreaker finished with him, another Autobot, one who trusted the twins as the command staff once did, would suffer the same fate. And Prime would be forced to watch as those he believed to be fighting by his side were turned against him, his cause, and his soldiers. He would watch as they succumbed to the demons that plagued them. Be forced to watch as they vented their rage and frustration on innocent bots, mangling, maiming, destroying their bodies as their own sparks withered and died into empty shells. There was nothing Prime could do to stop the slow, torturous execution of his most loyal of soldiers, and closest of friends.

But Jazz could.

Jazz had a way. All Special Ops agents had a way out. Their programming was different than the average mech's.

Prime knew this.

When Jazz turned empty optics to his ever stoic leader, Prime gave an imperceptible nod. He knew. He understood. He condoned. He had made Jazz promise such a thing when Jazz was first instituted into the Third In Command position. He was honor bound to obey.

Jazz chuckled, earning a confused look from Sunstreaker, who continued to hover in his personal space. Jazz snickered, leaning forward to where his lip components were almost touching Sunstreaker's, his icy blue optics alive with frozen fire.

"I know something you don't know,' Jazz said in a singsong, taunting his black armored capture.

"You know much," Sunstreaker admitted, bracketing the seductively taunting saboteur with his arms. His face loomed in Jazz's vision.

Jazz sneered, lurching forward and planting a rough kiss on Sunstreaker, who recoiled at the sudden action. With a mighty shove he pinned the saboteur against the wall, earning a grinding click from the now rattling chassis as Jazz shook with laughter.

"What's so funny?" Sunstreaker asked.

Jazz cracked a genuine smile, his mirth falling away into silence. He looked deep into the optics of his captor, his friend, his betrayer, and said with a soft, sincere voice.

"You're not as smart as you think you are."

Sunstreaker frowned trying to discern his words, when there was a pop in Jazz's frame. Black and white panels expanded like a mech performing a ritualistic display.

Jazz offered a smile before his chassis exploded in a shower of sparks and fire. Sunstreaker, being mere inches from the explosive device, was terminated instantly. Sideswipe took two steps toward the blazing fire, his hand grasping his chest as he fell into the inferno that bloomed outward from the detonation. He was terminated before the roiling fire touched his plating.

Prime closed his optics, feeling the room shudder with the force of the explosion. Megatron was able to open his mouth to bellow in rage before the glass partitions erupted. The Decepticon leaders and their enslaved enemy, were showered in diamonds before their internals melted, extinguishing their sparks.

And Jazz's laughter could still be heard in the thundering aftermath of the explosion.

**{{_}} [[-]] {{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]] {{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]] {{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]] {{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]] **

Seriously, what do you think? I said it was AU.

Anyone see it coming?

Next week... the request from dragonstormgirl, who was the 1500th reviewer!

Congrats to Grace, who got number 1600. Thank you for your wonderful review and kind words. I do try to balance the sad with the humorous so it isnt so one sided. I have been told I can go "too dark" and I dont wanna do that, especially with the twins.

Lesleym: Thank you so much! I do try to broaden the range of emotions, experiences, and possible scenarios that may occur with the bots. I try hard to be original and possibly add a twist that no one saw coming or has been done before. :D


	94. Rebel Without A Streak

Rebel Without Streak

**AN:** This is the request from Dragonstormgirl, who was the 1500th reviewer! Congrats again and I sure hope this lives up to expectation. :D

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"This is so cool!" Sideswipe crooned as the transport vectored in to the newly reconstructed landing pad.

"How so?" Sunstreaker asked sounding bored.

The twins were standing in loose formation, awaiting the arrival of the new base commander. Their base had been attacked a few weeks prior, leaving over half of their forces terminated. With some ingenious plan of attack, the twins had orchestrated a countermove that sent the Decepticons scrambling for cover. And every one of them unknowingly infected with a little virus Sideswipe had been working on to prank his now deceased comrades. The shuttle descended onto the platform and with a hiss of hydraulics and groan of overtaxed engine, the ship threw open its wings and regurgitated its crew.

The main shuttle door opened to reveal a tall mech, painted in red and blue flanked by a bot slightly larger than a minibot and painted in midnight blue. Those in formation instantly snapped to attention, having received word that their new commanding officer was very strict and by the book. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker didn't acknowledge the mech or his rank. They remained lax, observing the crew that was to come in under the pretext of 'leading' them. The twins doubted the broad shouldered mech even saw combat. He looked to be the kind to issue orders behind the safety of trained soldiers.

Pale blue optics regarded the surviving Autobots in turn, no doubt assessing and ranking the remaining soldiers in order of usefulness and possible weaknesses. When the optics alighted on the twins, they narrowed, but didn't linger. The troops stood silent scrutiny, allowing their worth to be assessed by the one who would judge who was to be fodder and who was allowed to gain rank. When the Decepticons attacked and decimated their numbers, many had fled, forgetting the reason why they had signed on. Those few who remained were on questionable ground as far as the Autobot high command was concerned. Everyone would have to undergo evaluations.

"My designation is Ultra Magnus and I run my base with the utmost efficiency and ensure all of those under my command are trained in the correct, standard protocol of tactics and proper chain of command. First, there will be no unauthorized use of base systems for personal use," the new base commander said without preamble. He knew he had to establish his dominance with this group lest he lose their respect. "Any hacking into the system will be investigated and the offending party will enjoy a lengthy say in the brig."

Sideswipe gave his brother a smirk from the corner of his optic. Everyone knew the last commander had experienced a glitch at his terminal. Thanks to Sideswipe's excellent hacking skills, though he never publicly admitted to such misdeeds. No one ever knew when or how he was going to strike.

"Second, any excursions outside of Polyhex are to be signed off by your superiors and any failure to report your itinerary will culminate with an extensive stay in the brig." Ultra Magnus didn't seem to notice his two worst offenders looking vaguely bored with his speech. He droned on. "NO one is going venture outside of base alone. You must be accompanied by at least two others and maintain radio contact at all times."

Sunstreaker emitted a sigh through his vents. It seemed to be too much trouble in his opinion. The war was just getting started. There were plenty of bots that needed to be taught a lesson in civility and public disturbance. The twins had been newly recruited and had barely been at the base before the Decepticon attack that culminated into half the command staff being terminated. Several of the recruits had fled, forgetting why they were there, but not Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. They ran headfirst into the pell-mell screaming like demons and wiping out a good portion of the Con armada that had broken through the base's defenses. Now, after having a young lieutenant in charge and subsequently having a break down over the weight of responsibility, a new base commander and staff had been appointed. The twins didn't think much of the new leader. He was large and full of hot air. Both doubted he would be of use on the battlefield. The new commander was going to learn the true ins and outs of the base and his instigators were casually standing in the front line. Typical placement for them. They gravitated to the front to see everything and if there was a confrontation, they'd be the first ones involved.

"There is to be no high grade except during celebrations," Ultra Magnus went on, pacing studiously before the neat squares of troops that numbered a paltry hundred.

Sideswipe's grin was infectious. Sunstreaker mirrored his brother and like two turbo foxes, they leered at the idea of being denied high grade. With their heavy duty frames, demanding jobs, and stressful situations, high grade was the only thing that kept their systems at normal, peak efficiency. They couldn't function on regular, rationed grade. To them, it was swill. Their frames needed the high octane to operate properly.

"Care to share with everyone on what is so amusing?" Ultra Magnus asked, coming to stand directly in front of Sideswipe.

The red twin offered a muffled snicker to his commanding officer. "We're adults. We're in the middle of a war. No way we're denied high grade."

"Need I remind you, _soldier_, that we must ration our supplies?" Ultra Magnus asked.

"We can brew with less ingredients than the typical filtered variety," Sideswipe offered a partial shrug as if that settled the matter.

"Soldier, when you address your commanding officer, you will use the proper formality and title."

"One of those," Sunstreaker sighed, rocking to the side and crossing his arms over his chassis. He looked annoyed and bored.

"Soldier, I did not give permission for you to be at rest," Ultra Magnus said, brow drawn down sternly.

"We are the front line. Cons rarely get passed us. When we're on the battlefield, we're primed and ready to terminate. While on base, we are _at rest_," Sunstreaker answered without batting an optic. He gave the bulky mech an unctuous leer before scoffing through his vents. He doubted the mech even _knew_ hand to hand combat.

"Sir, this is Sideswipe and Sunstreaker," the timid little midnight blue mech said, sending the leader a databurst which was instantly opened.

Ultra Magnus frowned at the sheer volume of detailed information. The first thing that was tagged for inspection was the fact they were split sparks, and one could not be away from the other without suffering a form of spark depression. Which lead to spark destabilization and possible termination…. after suffering severe emotional distress that would probably mean both would be completely uncontrollable and highly destructive. They were effective on the battlefield for a reason. And it could quickly turn against the very ones directing their actions, as the previous field medic and base commander had made note. Magnus's frown deepened, finding the twins record of reprimand. Most was trivial offenses that ended up with menial tasks but some things that were on the list, Magnus certainly would _**not**_ overlook. Brewing and consuming of high grade principal among them. He believed the distilled rations were sufficient to maintain the systems. Extra charge made one sluggish, reckless, and distinctly lacking in morals. Many a seasoned soldier had succumbed to the fading spirit of brewed octane. Not to his surprise, the twins' disciplinary records was already nearly twice as long as a career soldier, though their sign-on date was less than a vorn.

In essence, they were trouble. **Big** trouble.

"Soldiers, while you are under my command you will conduct yourselves according to standard military protocol," Magnus said, making sure to use their position instead of their designations. They had to learn he was in charge.

"Commander," Sunstreaker said, looking the mech in the optic. His voice was deep, rumbling, his lip curled into a sneer as he spoke the designation with disdain. "We go in first. We fight. We get slagged. We recover. We drink. That is the way we function. If this is a problem, I suggest you transfer us to another regiment because your rules do not apply to our proven methods of operation."

Ultra Magnus scowled. Never had a lowly soldier spoken so directly and with such blatant insubordination toward him. Apparently these two didn't respect authority.

They would learn.

"Soldier, you are confined to the brig for a joor," Magnus jerked his head toward the central base. "And I suggest you learn how to properly address a superior officer before you speak out of turn. I will not tolerate your flagrant disobedience."

Sunstreaker offered a smirk while looking the red and blue mech up and down. It didn't escape his notice that the bigger mech shifted uncomfortably against the scrutiny.

"_Superior_?" Sunstreaker slurred the word. "Only by rank, and that means little on the battlefield when we're the ones risking our plugs."

Magnus paused. So, the mechs didn't respect him because they believed him like his predecessor who hid behind his troops, and never scratched his paint with the scars of war? Well, these two had quite the lesson to learn. Magnus was not an easy push over, nor was he a cowering bot who directed others to fight his battles. He had no problem getting into the thick of battle. He may even show the unruly pair a thing or two.

Just as he opened his mouth to inform the golden menace who was in charge and the consequences for disobeying orders there came the cacophony of noise.

"Decepticons! Eastern perimeter! They have a combiner team!" the lookout shouted over the base comms.

Sunstreaker didn't wait for orders. Like a golden blur he was gone. Sideswipe stepped up to a stunned Ultra Magnus, his grin as broad as his ornery streak.

"We'll pick this up later. We have work to do." Without a backward glance he was racing after his twin. Sunstreaker was already gaining the front entrance where the door was starting to buckle with the weight of a heavy fist.

Magnus was hot on the twin's tailpipes, the rest of the soldiers shocked out of the stupor to come to arms. As Magnus approached the buckling door, much to his abhorrence, both twins were finishing glowing purple cubes of a high grade usually associated with seekers. Such octane should have knocked both ground dwelling frames on their skid plates but surprisingly enough, both tossed the empty cubes without care and stepped through a side entrance that had been barred to prevent infiltrators. The door only allowed one to exit, not enter, and the gap was barely wide enough to even allow the twins passage. Magnus shook his head. They were probably so overcharged they weren't thinking straight. Like cowards they had found a safe place to hide and allow the charge to wear off. Typical. It was why he banned all forms of high grade on any base he commanded. It only lead to ruin.

The lookout informed the troops below that the combiner team was staggering away, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker sitting on the mech's shoulders and firing into his neck. Shouts could be heard echoing over the wall, followed by laser blasts, errant steps of a giant, and rifle fire.

Magnus was impressed. They didn't retreat and hide. They slipped out and attacked the Cons when they least expected it. He could admire that.

"Prepare yourselves," Magnus shouted, subspacing a giant rifle and checking the magazine. Everyone followed his example and with a nod, he ordered the door to be opened. When he stepped across the threshold it was utter chaos.

Decepticons were shooting at their combiner team, hoping to strike the crawling red and gold forms that skittered along the plating like insects. Sideswipe slid behind the giant mech's shoulder, Sunstreaker dropping down in front. Together they fired simultaneously at the center where the spark chamber should be located on the mech who made up the upper torso. The combiner team fell apart with a strangled cry, fire erupting from the massive chest and engulfing the entire upper half. The titan teetered back and forth, the combiner team reeling in pain from losing their leader.

First the mechs who made up the arms fell off, landing in a heap, unable to transform back to root mode. The legs gave out, tossing the twins to the battlefield below. They landed gracefully, Sunstreaker making it look easy, and while running toward a cluster of Decepticons, he aimed at the stunned combiners. One was shot through the transformation seam, his helm exploding from the impact and scattering his circuits over the terrain.

Sideswipe headed in the opposite direction as his twin, his shots taking out two of the combiners. The fifth and last mech was already turning grey, his spark probably extinguished with the loss of all his kin. Sideswipe hooted and laughed, jumping on one Decepticon, then the next, his fists a flurry of motion.

Ultra Magnus ordered his troops to advance, following the twin's lead as they cleaved the middle of a thundering mass of violent machinery. Errant shots ricocheted off of the fortress wall that surrounded the Autobot complex.

Magnus barely glimpsed Sunstreaker before the golden mech sent two helms flying through the air. Much to the new commander's surprise, the golden mech's optics were white. Both twins were a blur of motion. Where one jumps, the other slides. When one shoots, another lands a punch that crushes helms or disrupts sensors to allow a death blow. A tide of Decepticons rose over the roadway, covering it, hoping to gain ground by sheer number. They were surrounding the complex to storm it. Magnus knew they were outmatched at least four to one. There was a very slim chance any of them would survive.

He caught a flurry of red in the midst of the Decepticon ranks and knew Sideswipe was now lost in the evil tide that swept him under. Sunstreaker was half a kilk to the west, bellowing like an organic beast and slaughtering everything in his path. Cons dropped all around him, making a fortress of the dead that he climbed and stood upon, jeering at the survivors below who tried to scale their fallen comrades

Magnus knew the twins couldn't take on all of the Con forces by themselves, but they could buy some time. Just as Magnus thought about the sacrifice the twins were making, he saw a ruby colored bullet escape from the middle of the Decepticon forces, heading back to the Autobot line that was protecting the entrance to the base. Magnus's first thought was that Sideswipe had decided retreat was in order and was abandoning the fight. Then Sideswipe waved to Magnus and those around him and yelled, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

Suddenly, all Autobots drop to their knees, their hands over their audios. Sideswipe skidded to a halt in front of Magnus. Without word he jerked the much bigger mech to his knees, Sideswipe's expression not one to argue with. Magnus barely had time to cover his audios as Sideswipe' indicated, when there was a deafening **BOOM** that rattled frames and set equilibrium circuits on edge.

A fiery ring erupted from the middle of the Cons where Sideswipe had just vacated a tall orange mech. The bomb Sideswipe planted had destroyed everyone in a wide arc and scorched the road to a crispy black. Magnus recovered his senses, looking up to find Sideswipe already standing and heading back to the downed Cons who had not protected their audios from the sonic blast. Sideswipe had trouble shooting the ones who wove drunkenly, but the snipers on the upper posts were able to pick them off, the distance aiding in their recovery of Sideswipe's favorite weapon.

Those who were familiar with Sideswipe's antics were up and running, dropping the stunned Cons who were unfortunately enough to be caught in the radius blast.

Magnus staggered to his pedes, his audios still ringing with the residuals from Sideswipe's sonic blast. He saw the ruby colored warrior jumping onto the back of a disoriented triple changer and fire two shots into his spinal strut.

The blue mech that arrived with Magnus gave his commander a grin before saying, "That evens the odds a little."

Indeed, at least two-thirds of the Decepticon forces were either terminated or severely wounded.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker ran helter skelter through the masses, downing those who had yet to recover their senses.

Magnus directed his troops with a logical procession, picking off any stranglers, but then the Cons brought in their secret weapon. A squadron of six seekers sliced through the sky and rained fire upon the Autobots. Magnus barely opened his mouth to order a ground to air assault when the twins jumped into the air.

Sideswipe ignited a jetpack, flew over the battlefield, grasped Sunstreaker's upraised arm, then shot up into the atmosphere. A cloud of ash hung suspended over the area and before Magnus could decipher what was happening, two jets fell out of the sky and landed with a sickening crunch to the pockmarked ground below. A white jet escaped the cloud, a yellow ornament adoring its back and firing into the cockpit before jumping free. Sideswipe caught his brother mid-fall before throwing him toward a red jet that crawled through the sky, no doubt suffering the loss of its trinemates.

"Retreat!" the Decepticon commander shouted.

Sunstreaker zeroed in on the ghastly acid green mech. He smashed the cockpit glass of the seeker he was riding and directed the hapless flyer toward the enemy. Sunstreaker barely jumped clear in time as the seeker crashed into the Decepticon commander who was shouting for an immediate retreat.

The resounding explosion was beautiful to behold. Parts flew everywhere. The acid green melted into a dross with the red seeker. A wing went flying and sliced two retreating Cons straight through. They fell apart, twitching in half as their spark chambers were breached.

With a mighty bellow, Sideswipe charged after the backs of the Cons, his fire matching the snipers who still took down their targets though they gained distance. Sunstreaker joined his twin and together, they chased the Cons a sufficient distance from the base. On the way back they fanned wide and took out any Decepticon survivors. When they returned to base, it was to find a substantial amount of dead Decepticons, but thankfully, few Autobot casualties. Ultra Magnus was overseeing the removal of the dead, the field medics ordered to strip the bodies for anything useful. There was a very short supply on certain parts and most of the Autobots were operating in less than optimal condition. But one couldn't be picky about their supply sources.

"Soldiers! Did you not hear me order your immediate retreat from the Decepticons?" Magnus asked in a barely controlled shout.

"Wasn't paying attention," Sideswipe offered a shrug. His optics were slow to return to normal.

Sunstreaker was taking a little more time to wind down. Hot air still gusted heavily from his vents and his fists remained clutching their assorted weapons.

"What possessed you to charge after the Decepticons after they began to retreat?" Magnus demanded. He stared between the two, his logical center already trying to figure out what the best possible disciplinary action. "One does not shoot an enemy in the back!"

Sunstreaker stepped forward, his gaze unfathomable. "It doesn't matter if they are attacking or retreating. The fact remains that if one of them gets back to their base, they can collect their friends and return with greater numbers."

"Shooting a mech in the back is a cowardly thing to do," Magnus said, losing his vehemence from the icy fire that was directed his way in Sunstreaker's gaze.

"For some. For a seasoned soldier is means you take out the person trying to terminate you and everyone around you, and ensure he doesn't make it back to his own base to gather reinforcements and possibly end more lives." Sunstreaker gave a little twitch. The blaster in his right hand leveled off and without looking, he fired, sending a shot through a Decepticon's chest. The injured enemy gave a few feeble beeps before extinguishing. Sunstreaker had not looked at his target. His gaze remained locked with Ultra Magnus.

"Kill them all the first time and they can't come back to try to kill you a second time," Sunstreaker added.

"I do not agree," Ultra Magnus stated.

"Why am I not surprised?" Sunstreaker quipped.

Sideswipe bounced on his pedes, the heat of battle still singing through his circuits. He had plenty of energy left and no more enemy. It was going to be a very annoying cycle until he could release all his pent up energy. A small part of him wanted to go after the Cons but by now they would have reached their own troops, and good as he was, Sideswipe didn't fancy going into the thick of Decepticon territory just to siphon off some of his happy charge.

Magnus regarded the obviously energetic frontliner, his optics narrowing. "I have never before witnessed such actions while on the battlefield. The both of you are to be commended for the lives you have saved for your fearless attack upon the enemy forces."

"It was nothing," Sunstreaker scoffed, knowing he and his brother could have done a lot better had they not been hindered by injured teammates and a commander who didn't understand how they operated. If Magnus thought he was going to change the way the twins operated while on the battlefield, he had another thing coming.

"However, I have reservations about high grade being consumed, especially before a battle," Magnus said, looking between the two.

"It's what's needed to keep our systems up and running while the rest of you retreat," Sideswipe said, cheeky grin back in place.

"I can, perhaps, overlook the occasional indulgence," Magnus said slowly.

"Don't really _need_ your permission," Sunstreaker retorted, his optics following the field medics as they skittered about assisting the injured and triaging the damage.

"I may overlook the occasional indulgence, soldier, but I will not overlook your continued disregard for authority," Magnus snapped, his optics glaring at Sunstreaker, who returned the heated look with chilled fervor.

"Better get used to it, because we won't be changing to make you happy," Sunstreaker said with a smile that was dangerously wicked.

"I have no problem in enacting disciplinary actions," Magnus said, hoping the threat would be a good enough deterrent. He was wrong.

"Oh, Primus, more brig time," Sideswipe said, sounding ecstatic with the prospect of punishment. "We do enjoy the solitude."

"As I have noticed. Your disciplinary file is at least twice as thick as the entire base put together!" Magnus growled, staring at the two mechs who withheld his gaze without flinching. "And that is only for the short time since you transferred to this base."

"I know!" Sideswipe grinned, holding out his arm as a field medic hurried over to apply an emergency patch to his neural net. "Think what we are going to accomplish, given more time!"

"Out of the question!" Magnus barked.

Sideswipe's look somehow managed to become naughtily elated. He was taking the commander's orders as a challenge, not a restriction. This would not do.

"Soldiers, you are confined to the brig until you're transfers have been approved," Magnus said, knowing the only way he'd have order on his base was to eliminate the unstable elements. He had received word that Prime's unit needed some heavy hitters. And after seeing the two in motion, he knew he found exactly what their leader was looking for in front line defenders.

"You're sending us away?" Sideswipe gasped sadly. "But, there's still so much left to do!"

"People to prank," Sunstreaker amended, waving off the medic when he approached. Sunstreaker would patch up his minor wounds on his own. He didn't like to be touched by strangers.

"Effective immediately," Magnus said, pointing toward the compound where the twins were to march to the brig.

Sideswipe looked disappointed, Sunstreaker mutinous. Without further protest they entered the base and occupied two cells.

Magnus waited until the twins were gone before releasing a heavy gust of aggravated air. He just knew those two wouldn't make it to the end of the war. If the enemy didn't kill them, surely they're own side would do them in. Magnus shook his head in disgust and turned his attention to the removal of the dead and the repairs of the base.

He would let Prime's unit deal with the miscreants. As long as they were no longer challenging his authority, he could return the base to a proper, military installation.

Let the two troublemakers become someone else's processor ache.

Magnus did feel a small pang of pity for the mech who was going to be stuck dealing with the violent troublemakers. But that feeling was quickly squashed when a soldier announced Sunstreaker just put his fist through the brig wall and shorted out that section of the base.

Magnus growled oaths as he marched toward the base, every intention of expediting the transfers and eliminating the two troublemakers from his command.

**{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]] **

I felt like it was getting long winded, so I kinda chopped out some stuff. Does it still flow well?

HUGE THANK YOU to all reviewers. You have been greatly appreciated!

We're coming up on the 100th chapter folks. Its hard to believe the twins are still going strong. :D


	95. Unidentified Flying Swiper

Unidentified Flying Swiper

**{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} **

Prowl should have been suspicious when Sideswipe didn't argue about the night shift. When nothing was gratffied, blown up, decorated, rations spiked, and minibots not riled up into a riotous mob, that was an indicator that something was amiss.

There were no arguments. No offering of duty swaps. No blackmails attempts, at least as far as Prowl could tell. Sunstreaker didn't send his brother sailing across the room or try to implant him into a bulkhead when the red Lamborghini tried to finagle his twin into changing shifts.

Sunstreaker didn't like the night shift either because it interfered with his creative flow. If he had to stay up all night and not exercise his artistic providence, there was the Pit to pay. When Sunstreaker performed a midnight shift, the entire crew suffered his temper.

So when Sideswipe quietly accepted his night shift duty, simply because half the crew was down with a nasty virus, Prowl should have been suspicious. Ratchet had to quarantine the infected crew to med bay where they were to enjoy his medical hospitality.

Due to the mechs social behavior, and their tendency to send things to each other via airwaves, half the crew were infected by noon. Ratchet was able to make a simple patch to prevent the rest of the crew from contracting the glitch, but as a precaution, the uninfected crew were to avoid contact. The ones who were infected had developed numerous glitches and oddities. Bots suffered from severe vertigo and errant coding that made them not censor their thought-to-speech patterns.

Bumblebee had the odd habit of doing pirouettes before he sat down. Tracks kept ticking like a time bomb. Powerglide emitted a series of clicks and whistles, like a teapot for sparklings.

Prowl would walk a few paces, pause, then lean forward, lift his leg, hold it in place for ten seconds, then lower it and then return to his destination. It took him four times as long to walk to Prime's office, where he submitted his report to Prime. An hour later, Prime was heard stuttering on the comms. He was unable to pronounce the letters P, M, S… which thankfully no human cottoned onto. He ended the transmission with a sputter that sounded like his engine was overtaxed. Ratchet called for everyone to be immediately screen and found half of the crew infected.

Jazz was currently in charge, complaining worse than Gears as he was stuck with the substantial mountain of paperwork usually handled by the two senior officers.

Typically, Jazz was in a bad mood.

Ratchet linked the anomalous behavior to when Wheeljack was playing with a reciprocating saw. He was hoping to sup it up and in the process, the power tool went flying through the air, and imbedded itself into the wall, cutting into the main relays for the power supply that linked to the recharge stations. When bots were running low and needed their batteries charged, and shutting down for a nightly cycle wasn't enough, they entered the elongated pods for a few hours and came out refreshed, refueled, and ready.

So when the recharge stations blew, the base in chaos, Jazz becoming surly due to his new duties, Sideswipe was assigned night shift monitor duty. When Prowl sent out the datapads the day before, all mechs groaned at their workload, several cursing Wheeljack's designation for his disregard to safety and putting such a hardship on his teammates.

Those who weren't affected covered shifts, Prowl able to perform his job, though the datapads he used were cleared through Ratchet before being passed on. Sunstreaker relinquished the monitors to his twin that evening, the base powering down to conserve energy and to let bots charge. Sideswipe was all alone.

Which was how he wanted it.

It was why he didn't complain when he was assigned the lone shift. He knew that Prowl knew he'd shirk the responsibility, and that he'd probably spend the time screwing around, but what Prowl didn't know was that Sideswipe was as ever, plotting his next prank.

One fifteen blinked on the chronometer and like a feral animal, Sideswipe grinned and inputted the last line of codes, giving them a little flourish for good measure as his plan was executed. A military satellite in orbit gave a beep as its control was relinquished to the nefarious Lambo. Sideswipe used the navigation controls from Tele-Tran to patch into the satellite and control its flight path. He knew it didn't have the maneuverability like with video games, but it was still fun to play with. He turned the optical sensor on, knowing that Cosmo was supposed to be within the celestial neighborhood. Sideswipe had found the UFO's projected flight path earlier and made sure to hack a satellite close by. He planned on following the UFO with the military satellite in hopes of freaking him out. But when he turned on the monitor, he met a surprise.

Cosmo was along the flight path given, but he was in robotic mode. And was in an intimate embrace with another satellite. His optics were off, looking like he was charging with his new found friend.

Sideswipe sent his hacked satellite closer, noting the white patch of paint from the corner of a country's flag stamped on the side of the satellite. The hacked satellite hovered for a moment, then did a slow circle around the pair and found that Cosmo was most definitely charging….. with his arms and legs wrapped around the satellite. Sideswipe briefly wondered which country had its transmissions corrupted due to an amorous UFO. Blackmail material obtained, Sideswipe buzzed his satellite in closer, making sure to hit the thrusters to maneuver the clunky metal. The sudden burst garnered the desired effect. Cosmo sputtered online, his optics immediately zeroing in on the encroaching satellite. The little lights along its metallic body blinked innocently but the UFO knew who as behind the innocent lens.

"Sideswipe," Cosmo said, disentangling himself from his impromptu sleep partner.

"Having fun are we?" Sideswipe asked via transmission.

"Its not what you think," Cosmo said, his cheek pates heating. He transformed back into his alt mode and puttered away from the satellite.

"Oh, no you don't, you sneaky mech," Sideswipe jeered. He used the maneuvering thrusters to follow the little green saucer.

"Is there a reason why you are contacting me?" Cosmo asked. There was an odd tone to his voice.

Sideswipe may be a prankster and yes, he enjoyed seeing others being caught in compromising situations, but something about the way Cosmo spoke made the verbal commentary die out in Sideswipe's vocalizer.

"Cosmo, what's wrong?" Sideswipe asked, frowning at the saucer. The satellite he hacked was able to keep up only because Cosmo was limited to using his own maneuvering thrusters due to Earth's high oxygen content. If he used his main drive it could ignite the atmosphere. So Sideswipe enjoyed chasing the saucer with the satellite, skimming the thermosphere and pestering his new quarry. He didn't know why he hadn't done this sooner. It was certainly a lot of fun. There was a lot of mischief available in the skies.

"Nothing." Cosmo spoke a little too quickly to be believable.

Now Sideswipe was getting worried. He didn't want anyone bothering the UFO.

"Is something wrong?" Sideswipe asked. "Did you get hurt? Are the Cons bothering you?"

It seemed unlikely, considering they concentrated their efforts on the ground, but it wouldn't surprise Sideswipe to learn the Cons were tormenting the saucer. He didn't like that. Only **he** was allowed to torment his teammates. There was an unspoken law and rule about such things. One didn't torture the enemy… one had to terrorize their _own _teammates. It was what the humans referred to as 'balance'… or some such nonsense. Sideswipe had a tendency to expand his pranking horizons. No one was safe. Not even the Cons. Sideswipe was the epitome of 'unbalanced.'

"It's just..." Cosmo started, but trailed off, changing course abruptly and causing Sideswipe to compensate with the military satellite.

"Just what?" Sideswipe asked, perturbed.

"No one ever calls to talk," Cosmo said, feeling as if a huge weight was lifting off his chest.

Sideswipe frowned, realization slow to dawn but when it did, he looked gobsmacked.

Of course!

"You're lonely," Sideswipe said, suddenly wondering what it was like to spend day in and day out, wandering along the upper atmosphere with no one to talk to or interact with. The only time Cosmo joined the Autobots was for big celebrations. Most communications were purely field reports. There was nothing … personal, that the bot could relate to. As far as Sideswipe could tell, the UFO didn't have any real friends.

That was kind of sad. And Sideswipe couldn't let a teammate down, even if he did pester them.

"I don't mind," Cosmo put in, his voice a little too rough. His words were forced, his emotions causing some friction with his sense of duty. "I mean, I know the Autobots rely on my watchful eye to make sure the Cons don't get into trouble and I know that Optimus wouldn't trust just anyone to this important task, and I am honored, really, to be considered worthy enough for Prime to…."

"Cosmo, stop imitating Bluestreak!" Sideswipe snapped good naturedly. He knew that the UFO had an important job but he never realized just how isolated the mech was, spending countless hours alone with no form of entertainment and social interaction. He was worse than Prowl!

"Sorry," Cosmo said meekly. "I just feel like I have to get everything out before I lose connection."

Sideswipe was able to read between the lines. Cosmo wanted to talk while he had **someone** to answer him or actually listen to him.

"Tell ya what, you don't tell anyone that I hacked this satellite and I'll change my shifts to do nights and we'll talk," Sideswipe said, knowing Cosmo could easily rat the Lambo out and then Sideswipe would be stuck in the brig. His own form of solitary….. though Sunstreaker usually charged nearby so he wasn't truly _alone_.

"Why would you do that?" Cosmo asked suspiciously. He knew the Lamborghini was notorious for his pranks. He thought he was being set up. As far as he could tell, he never been pranked by the devious twin. He could be looking to mark the entire Autobot forces off his 'to do' list.

"I know what its like to be alone." Sideswipe gave a one sided shrug that Cosmo couldn't see. "Course, I have my brother so I can always sense someone even if there's no one around. But I've been lonely. Times when our handlers kept us separated. And the scant few times some idiot assigned us to different regiments when we signed on."

"Someone … parted… you and Sunstreaker?" Cosmo asked curiously.

"Yeah," Sideswipe grinned, kicked his feet up onto the consol and released the controls of the satellite, as Cosmo now hovered, his sensors doing their routine sweeps of the surrounding terrain. "We were separated at basic camp. Kicked the tailpipes out of every since single combat instructor we were given. The unit commander thought we were a problem and that since we were so well trained, we could lead our own regiments."

"Anyone can see the two of you can't be apart for long," Cosmo said, enjoying the story to fill his boring hours.

"Well, the sparkache was pretty bad, but what most people don't know is, Sunny is a loose cannon,' Sideswipe said with a grin. If his brother knew what he was saying, he'd surely be terminated. "He comes across all burly and surly but the fact is, he senses things far too deeply than most give him credit. But he's like Prowl, and don't tell either I said that, but they both don't know how to deal with the emotional slag. So, he blows up."

"What did he do?" Cosmo asked. Scan complete he still hovered, enjoying the company.

"First he destroyed the barracks," Sideswipe recounted. His own senses during Sunstreaker's berserking rage had left him growling and gnashing his denta like a feral thing. But no one needed to know that. Except the command staff. And that was because Sideswipe bit Ratchet. "Then he beat the slag out of the security team that came to arrest him."

"Only?" Cosmo asked. Sideswipe could hear the grin in the UFO's voice.

"So the security mechs were all put in med bay, then My little Super Nova went to the washracks and demolished it because they didn't have the solvent and wax he likes to use."

"Doesn't that defeat the whole purpose?" Cosmo asked. "Destroying the one place he loves the most that involves detailing?"

"You would think but remember, Sunny wasn't using all his pistons at the time," Sideswipe said. "And he doesn't like to buff around others. Said it feels weird."

Cosmo offered a hum of agreement.

Sideswipe carried on.

"So after the whole place was flooded and lost two walls, ceiling collapsed, and four bots were stuck under ruble and another three had faucets rammed in places I'd rather not mention, my unstable half goes marching off to find the transports and probably demolish those as well but he's intercepted by the base commander."

"Oh no!" Cosmo gasped. He had an idea where the story was headed.

"So it took fourteen stunner shots to get Sunny down. He was kicking, screaming obscenities, punching, being an absolute Pit fighter from the underworld, you know, his usual self, and the base commander orders his evaluation." Sideswipe snorted through his vents for nearly a full minute. When he regained his composure he heard the tinkling laughter from the UFO. "So the processor hacker is waiting in Sunny's cell when he wakes up," Sideswipe continued. "Sunny looks at him, tells him to go frag himself and then physically forced the mech to perform that very thing."

"How is that even possible?" Cosmo asked in wonder.

"Dunno," Sideswipe shrugged again. "Sunshine's always been able to inflict the most damage and I think it has something to do with his artist stuff, but he can always find the weak vulnerable points and exploit them. Slagger's good at it, too!"

"Then what happened?"

"Well, the base commander and two of his triple changers come in to subdue Sunny and to get the processor doc safely out of the brig. They bring their medic in, a mech that never met Sunny, nor know of our …. Bio-circuitry."

Cosmo took that for what it meant. The medic didn't know they were half sparks.

"He comes in to subdue Sunny, the two triple changes end up with missing limbs, the medic forced face down with a stunrod shoved up his tailpipe and the base commander is hitting Sunny with multiple stun doses to take him down."

"He is an excellent fighter," Cosmo relayed. He had witnessed Sunstreaker's attitude on the battlefield. It had given him nightmares once.

Sideswipe smiled. He was never gong to tell his brother what was said. His ego didn't need any more stoking. So he continued with his story.

"Sunny goes down, unknowing the base commander is ordering his immediate termination."

"No!" Cosmo barked in outrage.

"When the medic had the stunrod extracted from his aft plates, he ran a scan on Sunny to check for possible battle damage and he found our little… secret," Sideswipe said. It wasn't really a secret but Sideswipe liked to pretend they were still keeping the information hush-hush.

"He explained to the base commander about the unique bond of twins and that Sunny was suffering from a mental breakdown because he had lost connection to the other half of his spark. Base commander Magnus spared him, sent him to Primes unit, and he's been docile every since."

"Docile?" Cosmo asked skeptically.

Sideswipe could almost see the brow ridge arched

"Well, he's a lot less destructive with me around."

"You taking up the slack for him?" Cosmo hazarded.

Sideswipe's grin turned into a hearty laugh. "Guess so. I do tend to cause more destruction now that he's back with me."

"Creative outlets," Cosmo said knowingly.

"Say, we're planning a party this Friday," Sideswipe said, hit with inspiration. He wished he was stuck with it as often as Ratchet's wrenches. "You want to attend?"

"I don't know if I could," Cosmo said, knowing he wasn't schedule for any downtime for another two weeks.

"Bullshit," Sideswipe said, tossing the human word into the mix and earning a sputter from the saucer. "Everyone needs to unwind and you're no different. I'll mention it to Prowl when I hand in my report from tonight."

"You'd do that?" Cosmo said.

"Sure. And I'll tall ya what, I'll asked Prowl for the night shifts the rest of the week. We'll sit and talk instead of watching boring monitors."

"Shouldn't you be working?" Cosmo asked, though he sounded forced.

"When was the last time the Cons attacked at night?" Sideswipe countered. "And rarely do they attack on weekends."

"How do you figure?" Cosmo asked, not noticing the connection until Sideswipe mentioned it.

"Dunno." Sideswipe sighed. "Maybe Meggy doesn't like to interrupt his favorite shows with energon raids? It's hard to tell what goes through his bucket. "

Cosmo laughed, losing altitude in his mirth. He ignited his thrusters to get level with the satellite.

"Prowl's been wondering who to assign for night shift, so if you want, I can volunteer for some." Sideswipe grinned at the idea of having a bot to listen to his stories and seemed genuinely happy to have him to talk. It was therapeutic. Not that he'd ever enlist Smokescreen's services. Sometimes a bot needed to talk and not be analyzed. "Still have to do patrols with my little ball of sunshine, but I'll see what I can swing."

"Really?" Cosmo sounded exited. His engines gave a choking sputter.

"Sure," Sideswipe said. "And you can come attend the party this weekend."

"What's the occasion?" Cosmo asked. He was usually only granted ground leave when there was something major.

"It's Friday!" Sideswipe snorted. "Don't need another reason other than that!"

"Celebrating…. a…. day?" Cosmo seemed lost with the concept.

Oh, he had been alone in space for too long.

"If it will make you feel better, I can find something to celebrate and make it official," Sideswipe said. He already had a thousand ideas running through his processor. Most of them weren't exactly 'safe'…. Some involved crashing bots and getting beaten by a deranged medical officer. But, Sideswipe had suffered worse.

"Don't do anything that will get someone hurt," Cosmo admonished. Then he remembered who he was talking to and shrugged it off. How the saucer was able to pull off a shrug was anyone's guess, but he still managed.

"Just don't tell anyone I hacked the satellites," Sideswipe reiterated. "I've got some ideas I want to put into motion and that's all I need is for Prowl to get wise and remove me from monitor duty."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Cosmo lied so easily it was scary. Sideswipe liked him even more.

Sideswipe looked to the chronometer and realized his shift was nearly up. "I'm going to have to go. It's nearly seven and my relief will be coming. I'll talk to Prowl before I go charge. Little slagger's probably up anyway. Hope he's annoying Ratchet."

"Sideswipe," Cosmo said in exasperation. Honestly the Lamborghini was incorrigible.

"I'll see about getting tonight's shift," Sideswipe said quickly. He could hear the heavy, slow trudging of pedes coming down the hall.

"Thank you, Sideswipe," Cosmo said before the transmission abruptly ended. The hacked satellite dropped in orbit before its inertia thrusters kicked in and returned it to its designated elevation and coordinates. Cosmo grinned to himself and zoomed off to patrol the next quadrant.

True to his word, Sideswipe commed Prowl through the ship and was able to instantly get the Praxian.

'**Is there a chance I can have the next couple of night shifts?'** Sideswipe asked.

Prowl sputtered for a moment. Sideswipe crossed his fingers in hopes of a crash but Prowl recovered. The slagger was getting harder and harder to crash. Sideswipe thought the glitch was starting to fade away. That would suck for his intentions.

'**Why would you want night shifts?'** :Prowl demanded. **'No one likes the night shift.'**

'**I liked it,'** Sideswipe said simply.

'**Why? What were you doing? You know I can run the logs and find out what you were doing?'** Prowl snapped.

'**I spent the shift talking to Cosmo,'** Sideswipe said honestly. The honesty left a pleasant taste in his mouth. He had made sure to scrub the logs of his activities so there was no proof of his hacking. **'And I think he should be grounded this weekend.'**

'**Why? What did you do to him?'** Prowl asked, his suspicious levels rising to Red Alert's constant state of alarm.

Sideswipe opened a comm. to Prime so he could hear as well. **'Did you know Cosmo spends all of his time alone in space, orbiting the planet, and NO ONE talks to him? He's left up there for weeks at a time, in silent, bland, solitude.'**

There was a pause. Obviously the two command mechs were gauging Sideswipe's revelation. Sideswipe pressed on.

'**No one contacts him. No one cares about him. Yet he continues to scan the planet and keep us safe.'**

There was a buzz of static, no doubt someone else was entering the conversation.

'**All of us get down time and can socialize and yet, Cosmo doesn't get that,'** Sideswipe sounded perturbed. **"He's stuck in orbit for weeks at a time, only having conversation or company when he sends in his field report and then, transmissions are cut, leaving him all alone. I think he should be given ground time. And it's cruel that his schedule is so tough and he's thrown out into space just to wander while everyone else has friends.'**

'**Slag.'** That gasp was Jazz.

'**Never thought of it that way,'** Ironhide put in.

'**I do believe it is an oversight,'** Prime said slowly. He felt sickened to think all this time Cosmo had suffered in silence. He should have paid more attention to those under his command. **'Recommendations?'**

The question was thrown out to the command staff but it was Sideswipe who answered.

'**Night shift talks to him and on the weekends, he's grounded.'**

'**Prowl?'** Prime asked, waiting on the Praxian to do his shift changes and calculations. The mech was scarily efficient.

'**That is agreeable,'** Prowl said finally. **'And I have assigned Sideswipe to the next three evenings. I will compose a new duty schedule until the weekend. Please stop by the medbay this evening and collect it for distribution.'**

"**Will do,'** Sideswipe said cheerily.

'**Sideswipe, do you now anything about human satellites?'** Jazz asked.

'**I know there's a bunch of them from different countries. Why?'** Sideswipe asked innocently.

'**I just received a message from the military that one of their satellites was hacked last night.'**

'**I was talking to Cosmo all night,'** Sideswipe said, omitting his part in the conversation. **'We didn't notice anything.'**

'**Well, they are claiming that it was hacked and moved away from its relay location,**' Jazz said.

'**Don't humans hack satellites?'** Sideswipe asked, then beeped in alarm, **'Do you think one of those human hackers could hack… us?'**

'**Of course not,'** Prowl said immediately. **'We have firewalls that prevent such things.'**

'**Can't some humans get around firewalls?'** Sideswipe asked meekly. He never thought of being hacked and now, the idea made his circuits tingle... in a bad way.

'**Ratchet has assured us that everyone has the standard Cybertronian defense against such possible incursions,'** Prowl said, every so efficiently.

**'Yeah, but humans are inventive slaggers,'** Sideswipe said. **'They could figure a way **_**around**_** our defenses.'**

There was a pause, the communications line buzzing again. Then the irritate tones of a medic cut across

'**What are you talking about, you slagger?'** Ratchet snapped. The line buzzed again. Ratchet lost some of his vehemence. "**I'll talk to Wheeljack. See if we can create some countering algorithms.'**

'**It would be appreciated,'** Prime put in.

'**Can't believe that slagger thought of this,'** Ratchet groused, meaning Sideswipe.

'**I love you too, Ratchie-poo,'** Sideswipe crooned, sending the sound affect of a human kiss over the line.

'**Remember you worthless little prankster, you'll have to get the new algorithm, too,'** Ratchet's voice was dark, foreboding. **'And you have to be in stasis for a full reboot.'**

Sideswipe emitted a mouse like squeak as Ratchet chuckled darkly.

'**Sideswipe, I suggest you charge,'** Prowl said, tapping away on a datapad that was to be picked up by the Lambo later in the day. **'I'm changing the schedule as per your request.'**

'**Good idea,'** Sideswipe said, stretching his frame as he crawled onto his berth. He made a mental note to alert Cosmo to the change of satellites, letting the UFO know which ones he planned to hack to follow him around. And Sideswipe knew just the prank he was going to play on the unsuspecting UFO.

**{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} **

Well, what do you think? Another concept to make you face palm and ask yourself, 'HOW did I miss that?' I have a feeling, Prime asks himself that A LOT...especially with the twins in residence. ;)

Warning: Dont know when I'll be able to update again. Real life is terrible at the moment and my mother is in danger of losing her job because she is unable to take the flu vaccine again. Last year when she took it, she went into thyroid storm and now has to have medication. She developed a brain lesion AND swelling on the brain due to the shot and her history of meningitis/ encephalitis and requires several medications to keep the swelling and pain down, and now the hospital is saying she's a 'liability' because TWO neurologists said if she takes the shot again, there's a VERY high percentage chance that it will kill her. So basically, the hospital is telling her to either quit, or commit voluntary suicide by taking the shot. She has until Friday to decide if she wants to continue working. Needless to say, fanfiction is the furthest thing from my mind. I hope everyone can understand and please, prayers that everything works out would be appreciated.

Love,

PJ


	96. A Critical Sun

A Critical Sun

AN: Yes, its been awhile and I'm going to try to upload several chapters this month. I have finished my first erotica novel and will be publishing it within the week. :D Check back on my authors page for updates. :D

I've missed everyone SOOOOOO MUCH! *collective hugs*

**{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]] **

Sideswipe sat, staring at the inert golden form laying on the medical berth. Tubes, hoses, and machinery ran out of the blackened and dented body. Sideswipe could only stare, helpless to aid his twin in recovery. Ratchet said it was all up to Sunstreaker whether or not he woke up. Until Sunstreaker woke up, Sideswipe was left in a cold, empty, vacuum where his twin usually resided.

"How did it all go so wrong?" Sideswipe wondered not for the first.

The Decepticons had started a ruckus and the twins being their natural counteragents, jumped into the fray and kicked some Con aft. It took an errant shot from one of the seekers to ricochet and strike Sunstreaker, blind siding him when he launched an attack on Devastator. Sunstreaker never went for the small enemies. He always targeted those at least twice his size. It made his victory and their termination that much sweeter. But the stray shot had hit a critical junction, sending Sunstreaker skidding along the ground with a hissing of caustic metaphors he learned from Ratchet. Devastator saw the limp golden mech and proceeded to throttle him.

Sideswipe didn't remember jumping the combiners but he knew he did some damage when they broke apart in a daze, smoke using from two as they fell into stasis, their comrades slow to respond. Sideswipe didn't know who he hit or how badly. He just wanted the Cons gone. He preferred termination but if that wasn't possible, then he'd settle for a full retreat. All he wanted to do was get to his brother and stop the pain. He joined his twin and the first thing that entered his processor was how horribly burnt and scratched the golden frame was. His brother surely wouldn't want anyone to see him in such a state. Then Ratchet appeared, ran a scan, and started barking orders for the troops to close ranks and ask for volunteers for energon donation.

Sideswipe thought it odd the medic requested such a thing. Sunstreaker just looked charred and beaten. He was a mess but certainly his injuries weren't as bad as Ratchet was insinuating. His assumptions were proven wrong when they finally were able to move Sunstreaker's body. The ground was soaked several inches deep in energon, Ratchet pulling the golden mech to his side and patching the ruptured hoses that were leaking. Sideswipe offered himself and Ratchet wisely joined the two together, melding the connection hubs and allowing Sideswipe's systems to stabilize his twin. When Sunstreaker's full diagnostic scrolled along his HUD, he felt his intakes stall. It was a lot worse than he thought. Much worse. Sunstreaker was beyond injured. He was broken, in so many ways, Sideswipe vaguely wondered if he **could** be repaired. The Autobots were determined to help pull him through, Ratchet especially. Jazz joined the twins and after a little splicing of tubes, Ratchet was able to get the special Ops mech patched into Sunstreaker's systems as well. Energon flowed back into his lines, returning the pressure to normal parameters and strengthening his spark beat.

When they returned to the ARK, no one spoke. Sideswipe and Jazz helped usher Sunstreaker into the operating theater while Ratchet prepared for the major surgery. He downed some high grade to charge his systems for an extended period, then drew out several liters of energon from the mechs uninjured and able to donate. To no one's surprise, Prime was first, ordering Ratchet to extract a little more than normal from his lines. By the time Sunstreaker was prepped for surgery, Ratchet had enough biological energon to completely restore the life's blood of twice over. He set the processed energon into the replenishing machine, attaching it to Sunstreaker's main energon line, and began to dissect the melted conglomeration of tubes and hoses. Wires were burnt and twisted, some melted to circuit boards and junctures. Ratchet excavated and replaced, his work as always meticulous.

Of the rest of the crew, there were only a few minor dents and scrapes. Most mechs returned to their duties, allowing their bodies natural immunity to deal with the injuries. Sunstreaker took president. Prowl gathered his reports and Prime answered the call of humans who wanted an update on the Decepticon threat.

Sideswipe was left alone outside of the operating room. Wheeljack and Perceptor were helping Ratchet and under no circumstances was anyone to disturb them. Sideswipe took it upon himself to stand vigil, pacing like a caged animal and only pausing to rest his hand against the door that lead into the operating room and his twin.

After the first two hours of Sideswipe's vigil, Prowl stopped by and gave the exhausted Lamborghini a cube of fuel. Sideswipe barely glanced at the fuel before returning to his pacing, his hand rubbing his chest where his spark pulsed. He couldn't sense his twin. It was a common thing when one was heavily sedated or there was a great distance between them. He knew his brother still lived because his own spark beat steady, though it did falter every few minutes

Prowl left, not that Sideswipe noticed. Every two hours a bot would come to medbay to get an update. And each time, Sideswipe would silently shrug and return to his pacing in front of the door to the operating room. H could hear the occasional clang of metal and violent swear. Somehow, the vulgarity made him feel safe. As long as Ratchet was swearing violently, the world was a happy place of normalcy.

Eighteen hours after Sunstreaker went into the OR, Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Perceptor exited. All three looked exhausted, their optics dark, shoulders drooping.

"We've got him stable," Ratchet informed the red sentry. "It's all up to him now."

Sideswipe walked through a decontamination spray before entering the isolation room at the back of the OR. It was small, barely the size of a closet, but then again, a sterile environment didn't have to be the size of a stadium. There were a bank of machines that were built into the wall, all hooked to various parts of Sunstreaker inert frame.

"I'll just charge a little," Ratchet said, walking to the berth closest to the OR and curling up on its surface. He was unconscious before his optics completely shuttered. Wheeljack and Perceptor faired no better. Both staggered to berths and followed Ratchet's example. Wheeljack was snoring almost immediately.

Sideswipe sat in the small chair that was placed by Sunstreaker's medical berth. There was barely enough room for both bed and chair, but Ratchet knew that the ones who frequented the OR needed the companionable beat of their sparks. The berth and chair were almost mutually exclusive to the twins, with whatever configuration they took.

Sideswipe stared at his brother's lax frame. Now he was just a shell, with the faint echo of a spark beating somewhere in the damaged frame. It had been a long time since either were injured this severely. Usually they could dance their way out of a situation. Fighting was what they were good at. It's all they've ever known.

Sideswipe's first memory of his twin was just after their sparking. He could recall quite clearly, opening his optics for the first time and looking up to their exhausted, yet pleased carrier. When Sideswipe's head lulled to the side, he got the first glimpse of his brother, who stared at him with the same naïve, curious expression. Their sparks were already transmitting emotion. It would take some time before words or memories could be broadcasted. But all they had, being so young, were feelings. Sideswipe instantly felt drawn to his other half, feeling all warm and happy and full of what he later realized was love. Sunstreaker's expression went from curiosity to annoyance and for the first time, his little hand curled into a fist and arched through the air, landing squarely on Sideswipe's olfactory sensor. He had started to cry from the pain and though he didn't understand why, Sunstreaker started to cry as well. Feeling the ache in his own face, Sunstreaker grabbed his brother and pulled him close, both wailing and clutching at each other as if something terrible had befallen them.

Sideswipe gave a small smile at the memory. His brother could be a handful at times. Grouchy. Violent. Moody. Unpredictable. Most artistic types were. And in Sunstreaker's case, the history he shared with his brother afforded him deeper emotional trauma and the need for outlets that didn't include terminating those considered friend and ally.

"You really got scrapped good this time, didn't you, Bro?" Sideswipe asked his unconscious twin.

Ratchet was able to remove the damaged pieces and many circuits and hoses had been replaced, shining as brand new. They looked out of place to the bloodied and discolored armor. Though Sunstreaker was unconscious, it didn't mean he'd want to be seen as being less than his utmost best.

Sideswipe removed a buffing clothe from subspace and starting at Sunstreaker's pedes, began to remove the dirty and smudges on the golden plating. Sunstreaker would never allow anyone to see him so filthy. Cleaning his brother was the least Sideswipe could do. He really did put his brother through he Pit with all his jokes and pranks. Not one to delve too deeply into emotions and motives, Sideswipe did feel a _pang_ of remorse.

Sunstreaker didn't deserve half of what Sideswipe put him through. His bad moods were usually directly proportionate to Sideswipe pranks and schemes. Perhaps if Sideswipe lay off the jocularity for awhile, his brother could return to being the kind caring bot he used to know when they were younglings.

Sideswipe avoided the junctures were tubes lead into Sunstreaker. He was careful to keep the soft cottony fabric away from any exposed wire. Sideswipe learned the hard way that human cleaning clothes didn't mix well with high voltage. He had caught himself on fire many times until he realized that little fluke.

Up Sunstreaker's calves Sideswipe worked, first one leg, then the next. He knew the date and identity of every scar on his brother. The left knee had first been blown out when Sunstreaker thought he wanted to try stunt driving. He had watched hours of holovids, practiced on holodecks, and had his systems augmented to sustain heavy jolts and fast transformations. All that preparation... and as soon as Sunstreaker hit the spotlight for amateur night, he ran into a wall. Head on. He claimed the lights had blinded him but Sideswipe knew the crowd had caused his brother to freeze. He had sensed Sunstreaker's panic before he went careening off into the stone wall.

The four inch weld scar along the inner thigh plate on the right leg had been the most critical hit the golden twin had ever taken in the arena. He had fought viciously, losing himself in the heat of the moment. He was quite beautiful when he was angry and Sideswipe must admit, his brother embodied death in golden form. He was beautiful and deadly. A wicked combination. No wonder Sunstreaker insisted they take Lamborghini alt modes.

The scar was a lasting reminder of the crippling injury that had been sustained by the only mech to ever defeat Sunstreaker in the arena. Megatron. A lucky strike had cut the fuel line for Sunstreaker's pede and leg. The blade had almost completely severed the appendage. Error messages had turned Sunstreaker's vision to red as his systems started to fail. He would have been terminated had Megatron not cheated and transformed his arm into a fusion cannon.

Firearms were banned from the arena, the owners believing that hand to hand was the only honorable, and more profitable, form of battle. Megatron had been immediately disqualified and the crowd turned against him, ending the match as guards rushed the roaring gladiator who was able to get two shots into the golden frame before being subdued. Sunstreaker's right side had taken the heavy weapon's fire directly and required an extensive recovery period, to which he enjoyed. Their handler had been given a hefty sum of credits from the handler who was responsible for Megatron's cheating. The fine was split between the injured party and the mech hosting the tournament. Word had it that the handler had also lost all his assets and became the very thing he promoted, sold into the slave pits to train for public sport.

Sideswipe worked on in silence. Sunstreaker's golden chassis was blackened and covered in weld marks, requiring delicate strokes of the clothe to remove the charred coloration. Ratchet had removed most of the plating to be cleaned and possibly repaired later.

Sunstreaker was stripped to his protoform from the waist up, and Sideswipe felt his tanks churn when he saw the many scars.

They were all because of him.

He felt shame every time he saw how badly damaged Sunstreaker's body was. Sideswipe could take the beatings and the punishments from raging owners, but his brother never should have endured the trials of the arena just because Sideswipe had made the big mistake of placing a bet he couldn't cover. Before he could sell off his business and liquidate all assets, he had been enslaved. When Sunstreaker showed up with all of his wealth to buy his brother's freedom, the sneaky loan shark mech had taken Sunstreaker's credits and then claimed the golden frame as part of the set. The twins woke up to having slave coding and shock collars, and the brand of their new 'master' forever etched upon their protoforms. The only solace Sideswipe felt was that after all the years and hundreds of injuries, both were nearly free of the mark. Battle had erased what a greedy mech imprinted as his own.

Sideswipe smirked, remembering how it felt when the arena fell and he was able to get his servos on their 'masters' throat. Oh, it had been a glorious kill. One Sideswipe didn't need the roaring approval from the crowd to execute. Once freed, the twins sought shelter in the outside world for the first time in several vorns. Half starved and peddling what they could for rations, they heard the impassioned speeches of Megatron and Prime. It didn't take them long to realize who was truthful and who was just a bully in the guise of equality and leadership, lying through his vents to gain the numbers he needed to bolster himself into a high position of power.

The twins immediately found an Autobot camp and signed on, knowing the gentle minded Prime wouldn't be a match against the former gladiator. Sunstreaker had every intention of taking Megatron out and even after all this time, he still plotted Megatron's downfall.

Several hours passed. Sideswipe worked in silence, stealing the occasional glance to his twin. He wasn't even aware someone else was in the room until a cube appeared beneath his gaze as he hovered around Sunstreaker's helm. He looked up and found Prime holding the glowing fuel expectantly.

"You need to refuel," Prime said in his ever so gentle voice. "It's been over twelve hours since you last refueled."

"Has it been that long?" Sideswipe asked, standing up and feeling a crick in his back from being bent over for such an extended period.

"Ratchet is still out but Wheeljack and Perceptor have refueled and returned to their quarters."

"Ratchet still out there, huh?" Sideswipe asked though he knew it was a moot question. Ratchet rarely left the side of his patients. He was probably still passed out on the berth just outside the isolation room.

"His dedication is understandable," Prime said with a smile. He knew the medic may curse and blister paint but the twins were his favorite patients. They could take a beating while healing. That was a rare combination.

Sideswipe took the offered cube and downed its contents in three gulps before handing it back to the Autobot leader. Prime placed it in his subspace and made a note to remove it later. He was notorious for forgetting what he stored and often had to have his pockets cleaned by a very pissed off Ratchet who had to reset the parameters.

"Sunstreaker is looking almost completely normal."

Sideswipe smiled, looking at the polished plating. There were a few pieces missing, but Sunstreaker still looked good. How his brother was able to look so gorgeous while hovering on deaths door, Sideswipe couldn't even guess. His brother was a mystery He glanced to the monitors and found that all of Sunstreaker's vitals were stable and the most important ones were already showing improvement Even unconscious Sunstreaker wanted to hurry up and heal. He knew the white demon that would be haunting his waking hours while in the medbay. That was enough to make repair nanites do double duty.

"He's a strong slagger," Sideswipe grinned, turning back to Prime.

"Yes, he is that," Prime said softly. He noted Sideswipe's drooping shoulders and jerked his head toward the exit. "You get some charge and I'll stay with him awhile."

"That's not really necessary," Sideswipe sputtered, suddenly feeling very nervous around his leader. It still surprised him every time Prime opted to stay with an injured soldier. Surely no other Prime had done such a thing.

"Nonsense," Prime said using his authoritative voice that meant he was going to be obeyed or skid plates were going to be blistered. "You are exhausted. You have been up over thirty hours, after fighting in a physically and mentally exhausting battle and have yet to charge. Now, go get some rest and I will look after your brother." His expression turned stony when he noted Sideswipe's preparation for a verbal rebuke. "That is an order, Sideswipe. Now."

Sideswipe felt his resolve disappear. How could the mech do that to him? One harsh command and Sideswipe would cower like a naughty youngling. Never in all his existence had he ever been so stricken to hear a voice disappointed or cross with him.

"Yes, sir" Sideswipe uttered. He had been ignoring his warnings for shut down and alerts for recharge. With a defeated shuffle he slouched out of the room.

Optimus seated himself on the chair by Sunstreaker's helm, having to shift around to make himself comfortable in the tight confines and settled down to finish his datapads. Five minutes had barely passed when Red Alert interrupted his work.

'**Prime, Sir,'** Red alert was always formal.

'**Go ahead, Red Alert,'** Prime said, hoping that there wasn't another Con incursion. Most of his team was battered and he was doubtful of their safe return in such conditions.

'**Just wanted to alert you that Sideswipe is charging in med bay,'** Red Alert announced. Prime thought that was understandable until Red Alert continued, **'He's curled up on a berth with Ratchet. They charging together just outside of the isolation ward.'**

Prime snickered, knowing Sideswipe would remain close by. And since his twin was still in such a compromised state, Sideswipe sought an alternative. He was used to having his brother nearby, sensing his spark. It was only Ratchet's rotten luck that garnered him an unwanted berth partner, but he would have to deal with being a surrogate. Sideswipe needed another spark nearby to calm his own and until Sunstreaker was healed, Sideswipe would be bunking with anyone who didn't have their door locked. The mech was like a lonely and lost puppy at times.

'**Understood, Red Alert. Please alert the crew that Ratchet is still currently charging and that the med bay is off limits save life threatening injuries.'**

"**Yes, Sir,'** Red Alert confirmed. **'Wheeljack has already retired to his quarters so there shouldn't be anything life threatening. I shall inform all crew members. Red Alert out.'**

Prime smirked, returning to his work, leaning close to where Sunstreaker lay unconscious. If Sideswipe needed another spark to feel safe, then it only stood to reason Sunstreaker would need the same form of comfort. Prime made sure the golden warrior could sense his spark. After all, he couldn't let either one of his best soldiers down.

**{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]] **

All errors are Wheeljacks as he has been 'assisting' me with my literary workload. :D


	97. Not Your Standard Sidearm

Not Your Standard Sidearm

*MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE TO EVERYONE*

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"I'm not going on patrol," Sunstreaker stated firmly, his arms crossed over his chest, defiance seeping from every joint.

"You will or you will spend a month in the brig and I will withhold your next shipment of art supplies," Prowl said, not backing down on his decision.

"You wouldn't dare!" Sunstreaker hissed, arms uncrossing to curl up at his sides.

"You should know by now that I do not bluff," Prowl said with a little hint of pride. Thanks to a certain pair of Lamborghinis he was improving on his poker face and had already experienced a wide range of emotions. Most of them were negative, but as long as his emotional center was learning to cope, he could deal with the backlashes. Right now he was in a staring contest with one irate golden warrior.

"But, Hound cant go fast!" Sunstreaker barked with a scowl. "I need someone who can keep up with me!"

"No, you need to slow down,' Prowl rebuked. "I have too many speeding tickets to deal with at the moment, and most of them have your designation on them."

"I can go much faster than what they post," Sunstreaker argued, temper still boiling. Prowl had an uncanny way of keeping him from erupting, but simmering on a back burner. "If no one was intended to go that fast, then they would not have invented speed and therefore, no need for limits."

"Your argument isn't valid. Proceed to the entrance of the ARK for your patrol."

"Well, if you don't buy the speed thing, how about this," Sunstreaker sneered, leaning over Prowl's desk to hover over the Praxian. "Hound isn't a fighter. He's too weak. If I'm in the slag, about to be sent to the smelters, I need someone who can whip a Con's aft and not be so slagging passive!"

"Hound has his attributes," Prowl said evasively. "I suggest you use the time to learn some of them."

"Like what?" Sunstreaker snorted, unimpressed. He highly doubted that Hound of all mechs, could teach him anything, especially when it came to combat.

"Like taking your time, enjoying the scenery, and finding a measure of tranquility by enjoying the beauty of this organic world," Prowl put in. "Surely your artistic optic could benefit from the multi-planular spectrums?"

Sunstreaker frowned, thinking. Prowl had a point. He did love painting landscapes and with the hectic chaos of fighting Cons all the time and simpering to the humans, sometimes Sunstreaker forgot to sit and actually LOOK at the world around him. It would also be beneficial if he got the perspective of another's optic. Hound was pretty easy going and wouldn't think it was a waste of time like Sideswipe whined when his brother was in a reflective mood. Hound may actually listen or better yet, make suggestions that Sunstreaker could use to his artistic advantage.

"Sunstreaker, the fact dissolves into this," Prowl said, leaning back in his chair, his doorwings flared wide to accommodate such action. "Half our forces are still in recovery from the last battle with the cons, your brother included. Those who are less injured need to fill available duty slots until the injured have been cleared by Ratchet to resume duties. Prime himself is recovering, leaving me to handle not only my own regular duties, but his as well. And I know I don't need to remind you about the constant inane chatter from the humans that Prime must deal with on a daily basis."

Soundly rebuked, Sunstreaker's anger abated. He huffed heavily, still not happy but accepting of his new duties.

"And I would not ask for this patrol were it not for the fact that with human dignitaries flying in to attend a sporting event and ceremony the Cons may take advantage of the influential humans and stage an attack. I need the area monitored constantly to ensure that the humans remain safe and that the Cons don't perform any blitz attacks while our numbers are so diminished."

Sunstreaker gave a jerk of his head in affirmation before leaving. Prowl heaved a heavy sigh and picked up his datapads, hoping that the Decepticons were just as damaged and wouldn't make any attempts on the humans in the near future. Red Alert had taken extra precautions, making sure Tele-Tran's orbiting systems were now monitoring five square miles around the Ark in all directions.

So it was up the Autobots to actively patrol along the beach and the city, their scanners attuned for any errant Decepticon signals.

Sunstreaker saw his patrol partner standing at the mouth of the Ark, his face turned toward the outside, his back toward the entrance. Sunstreaker thought it was a very vulnerable position. But then again, one wasn't normally attacked by their allies. Unless Sideswipe was healthy and in a particularly feisty mood. Then he could jump out at any time. One would think the many times he'd been sent to medbay for pulling this stunt would have taught a valuable lesson, but Sideswipe's helm was extraordinarily thick. On the upside, all the mechs were becoming adapted to his sneak attacks and were developing quite the self defense repartee.

Hound turned when he heard Sunstreaker approach. As always, there was a smile on his face.

"Sorry about this, Sunstreaker," Hound said, looking away as the brilliantly buffed mech approached. Sunstreaker's shine job rivaled his namesake. "I can't go as fast as you but I can try to keep up."

Sunstreaker offered a huff through his vents and transformed, gunning his powerful engine and making the green Jeep beside of him rattle on its axels. Without warning the golden warrior shot out of the entrance, Hound taking sometime to shift up to the fast pace the Lamborghini liked. Sunstreaker roared toward the open road, the highway not far from the Arks' crash site. He hit the highway, his engine barely humming between eighty and eighty five. Hound growled a few car lengths behind. Sunstreaker knew the utility mech wasn't built for such speeds and would be tiring quickly. He waited for Hound's plea to slow down but after five miles, the green shadow was still keeping pace.

"Too fast for you?" Sunstreaker called, his smirk evident in his voice.

"Not too bad," Hound replied. His engine couldn't fly like the sports cars but he still had some speed to his old rims. "I just cant go any faster."

Sunstreaker sneered mentally, adding a little more pressure to his accelerator and jumping up to just over ninety. As predicted, Hound fell back further, maintaining his eighty mile an hour stride. As long as Sunstreaker stayed on his sensor grid, he was fine.

A storm was rolling over from the ocean, the breeze hot and humid and making Sunstreaker hiss in distaste. The ten miles that bordered the ocean were quickly eaten by fast tires. Sunstreaker took the last exit before leaving the main city, and growled when a red light mocked him. It was the same color as Sideswipe. Surely humans had picked the color just to annoy him.

Hound came thundering off the interstate and stopped behind Sunstreaker, his engine throttling on high from the exertion. Air gusted through his vents but he didn't offer any complaint. Sunstreaker figured the mech wouldn't say anything. He was far too passive in the golden mech's opinion. Hound was what the humans called a 'push over.' Sunstreaker saw him as weak, and apart from the occasional hologram or force field, he didn't provide much use on the battle field. Sunstreaker noted on many occasions how the green Jeep kept mainly to the back lines for supply and occasional cover fire. He wasn't a really good shot and his hand to hand skills weren't what Sunstreaker believed they could be. Hound had a reinforced frame and a strong bearing. He just never used it. Often he had gotten sidetracked from missions by the local organic life and always was he bringing rescued creatures to the Ark for care before returning them to the wild.

Sunstreaker never will forget Prime waking up to a grizzly bear curled up at the foot of his berth. One realized the mech's heritage when he was scared. Being Prime was a regal position and garnered instant respect and wisdom, but terrify a mech, regardless of bearing, and one can hear the docks come through via colorful adjectives.

Ratchet was so proud.

Then Hound got knocked cold by a hammer. Ratchet's wrenches had mysteriously come up missing earlier that morning and he had to improvise.

As the duo were slowly cruising by a construction site they were made aware of spark signatures close by. Since most of the Autobots were banged up in medbay, the only ones who could be out would be Decepticons. Sunstreaker boosted his scanner and felt a mixture of disappointment and relief when only two signatures pinged back. He wanted a challenge, but then again, his "partner" wasn't the best back up.

"We should radio base," Hound said as soon as he detected the two spark pulses. "Get back up."

"We don't need back up," Sunstreaker sneered, wondering once again why he was paired with the skittish mech. "There's only two signatures."

Sunstreaker didn't wait for Hound to respond. He dampened his own field and eased away from the flow of traffic. Hound followed at a sedate pace. Sunstreaker was able to pinpoint where the spark signatures were coming from, and slipped easily between the broken links in the fence.

The area was a construction zone and before the two rounded the corner they could hear voices.

"Hurry up, Hook!" Scavenger barked.

"I'm going as fast as I can," Hook snapped back. His voice was muffled due to the fact his head was under the hood of a dump truck "These parts are human made so that means they are delicate to extract."

"Just get the parts so we can get out of here," Scavenger grumbled.

Sunstreaker transformed, Hound following suit. Together they peeked around the edge of a partially constructed building and sure enough, there were two Constructicons. It was obvious both had not faired well in the recent battle. Their normal green was pock marked with pewter welds and a few pieces of plating was missing. It was obvious the two were scavenging for parts from a human construction zone.

Sunstreaker calculated Scavenger to be the most injured, Hook appeared to have minimal scarring on his armor.

"You take Scavenger and I'll take Hook," he muttered to Hound.

"I don't think this is a good idea,' Hound answered. "We should call for back up."

"What is the point of going on patrol if we cant take out the cons who are doing damage?" Sunstreaker snapped, his optics blazing to white. He was winding up and that wasn't a good sign. The Cons were going to get it.

"I'm no match against a Constructicon,' Hound tried to reason with his partner. "They're plating is a lot thicker than mine."

"Obviously," Sunstreaker sneered, and sent a data burst with the full combat analysis of Scavenger's weakest points. "Disable him first, then slag him."

Before Hound could offer any more protest Sunstreaker was in motion. He darted out from his hiding place and charged the crane. Hook barely glimpsed the flash of gold before squalling and going tumbling over the construction litter.

Hound went after Scavenger, following Sunstreaker's valuable information about the construction mech's vulnerable points. He knew Sunstreaker had taken the stronger opponent and was thankful for it. He secretly had his doubts whether or not he could even take on an injured Scavenger.

The excavator had a momentary fear of being confronted with red and much to his surprise, he was attacked by something green. The two ended up inside of a small portable building and went tumbling along the construction site.

Sunstreaker didn't worry about his partner. A part of him chided that if Hound was a better fighter, he'd be the victor, hands down. If he failed to take out the very injured Constructicon, then Sunstreaker had every intention of informing the command staff about the gross negligence on the battle field that could have cost him his life. Everyone who takes patrols should have an extensive knowledge of hand to hand combat. Which Sunstreaker was suddenly very glad he excelled at.

Hook threw a punch but Sunstreaker was able to see it coming. He ducked out of the way and scored two hard hits to the crane's midsection before dancing away.

"Where's your brother?" Hook taunted, face contorted into a twisted expression. "Did he get slagged in the fight? Did we hurt him? Is he suffering? Will he terminate?"

Sunstreaker's expression remained stony, yet loathsome. He knew what the mech was trying to do. It wouldn't work. Sunstreaker was far too seasoned to allow barbs to injure him.

"He's a little banged up," Sunstreaker answered, never taking his optics off his opponent. His sharp optics caught the way Hook winced when stepping to his right. Instincts screamed to attack the vulnerable point. "Look's like he did more damage to you than what you did to him. Tell me, where's the rest of you? Are they slagged up in that pitiful excuse for a medbay?"

Hook snarled a string of obscenities and launched himself at Sunstreaker. He was able to land a punch to the golden mech's jaw before a rapid series of blows dented his midsection. As he doubled over in pain, Sunstreaker drew back and landed a heavy fist right on the Constructicon's olfactory sensor. Before Hook could recover from the blow, Sunstreaker spun behind the crane and flipped him over his back, hissing at the scratches he knew were appearing on his finish as the Con went sailing over his head. Hook handed in a heap on his injured side. He gave a groan, trying to roll off his damaged hip but Sunstreaker towered above him, a sadistic grin on his wickedly handsome face.

"Good night," he growled before stomping the Constructicon in the face. Hook was unconscious for the dozen or so kicks Sunstreaker planted along his body. The acid green mech wasn't going to be going anywhere under his own power any time soon.

Much to Sunstreaker's disgust, his right shoulder took the opportunity to squeak, now actively protesting from pulling a much heavier mech over his shoulder to toss him to the ground. Sunstreaker's frowned, moving his arm and rubbing along the shoulder joint. He knew Ratchet would have to take a look at it. That thought was sobering. Ratchet was in quite the mood since the last melee. Apparently, the medic was running on fumes as he monitored the handful of mechs who were severely injured. Sunstreaker would have to wait until after Ratchet caught up on his charge and refueling before he mentioned the injury, lest Sunstreaker suffer a medicinal iron supplement to the helm.

Favoring his right side, Sunstreaker heard the shouted vulgarities coming from the other side of the construction zone. He found Hound locked in a strong hold with Scavenger, both trying to upset the other and gain the upper hand. Sunstreaker had to admit, Hound was able to hold his own well against the larger mech. Course Scavenger was also badly damaged, so Hound couldn't have too much credit.

Sunstreaker knew he would have to intervene and save the Jeep. It seemed to be the only function he served in the army anymore. Rescuing his comrades who couldn't fend for themselves. He took in the situation, noting the two combatants were gripping each other's hands, pushing against the other, struggling to win the power struggle and topple their opponent.

Behind Hound was a power station. If he lost this test of strength, Scavenger could shove him into the electrical box and end his life. There were power lines that were running out of the grey metal box that could entangle the two, but Sunstreaker didn't think the Decepticon would want to receive an electrical jolt himself. He would want to win the endurance test and then push his opponent into something that would terminate him.

Hound staggered, his vents opening and drawing harsh gusts to compensate for the rising temperature as his systems were strained with trying to keep the Constructicon a bay. He staggered, never losing his grip on the excavator. Sunstreaker had to admire his perfect balance that kept him well braced against the much larger opponent.

Scavenger pushed harder, trying to exert a little more strength to overcome Hound's defenses.

"Give it up, Autobot," Scavenger hissed. "You're no match for me."

"I do believe I am disproving that theory," Hound retorted with a strained grunt. He widened his stance and held up, but the extra pressure caused his subspace pocket to hiss open.

Before anyone could register what had happened, half a dozen grayish white things shimmied out of the pocket, up over Hound's chassis, and right onto Scavenger. The clueless mech saw the small organic creatures erupt from the green Jeep and cross the bridge made by their bodies.

Their claws scraped at his dermal plating, sharp teeth bit into wires. Their small feet tickled and itched his plating as they ran, darting over junctures, biting exposed circuits, grasped and pulled on damaged plating, before moving on to find something else to bite. Two smaller ones were trying to work them way into his chassis, circling his midsection in a clawing frenzy, checking random plates for loose connections to allow entrance.

Scavenger broke away from his opponent, hooting like a crazed mech. A string of adjectives erupted from him as he slapped at the fast moving furry creatures that crawled over his body.

Hound stumbled with the loss of contact, then chased after the dancing Constructicon, his hands waving, his voice desperately pleading with the Constructicon.

"Don't hurt them, please!" Hound pleaded, trying to get close to the acid green mech, but his arms were flapping hysterically as he tried to beat the invaders from his body.

Sunstreaker stood back and watched the oddest scene he could ever imagine on the battlefield.

Scavenger hopped and kicked, shaking various parts of his body in an effort to rid himself of the annoying organic creatures. Piles of pipes were kicked. newly laid concrete was smashed. A pick up truck was flattened, the tires making popping noises like a cannon that would have caught Ironhide's attention. Scavenger performed the eclectic dance until he turned, ready to run screaming, but a steel beam prevented his escape. He slammed head first into the long metal support beam, knocking himself cold. He fell backward, the little furry creatures skittering out of the way so none would be crushed.

Hound gained the unconscious mechs side and opened his subspace pocket, his voice gentle and cajoling, urging the creatures back into his subspace where they would be safe.

"Come on," Hound said softly, waving his large servos toward his hip. "In you get. Did anyone get hurt?"

The furry creatures clamored up his calf and disappeared back into the dark confines of the subspace pocket. Hound made sure to give each a quick inspection before they disappeared, his shoulders slumping in relief when none registered any injury.

The rumble of engines could be heard closing in the distance. Very familiar engines.

"You called for back up?" Sunstreaker asked, joining his partner as he stood, his subspace pocket closing and protecting the organic cargo within.

"It's standard protocol," Hound said apologetically.

Sunstreaker's gaze drifted down to Hound's hip, where his pocket was sealed, hiding the little creatures from view.

Hound looked to Sunstreaker, his optics wide and beseeching. "You wont tell, Optimus about this, will you?"

"Of course not," Sunstreaker said waving off the mech's concern. There was no way he was adding anything that just transpired into his field report. No one would believe him. "Everyone knows it's standard military protocol to keep attack opossums in their pockets."

Hound grinned.

**{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]**

Sorry for the delay guys but my uncle died on the 6th and my aunt moved in with us. They were married for 42 years. It's been quite the shock and needless to say, its taking some time for everyone to adjust. I haven't been able to devote hardly any time to the story, as I was dealing with family matters and I have since uploaded my first erotica. There's a link in my profile. (surprised I was able to finish it under emotional duress)

Hopefully I can give you all some nice Christmas present chapters to tide you over until I can tackle these again. I miss writing the twins SOOO much. It's like an ache that won't go away. I miss their antics.

On a side note, the computer I use to write my twin fics was soaked by a leaking roof. I have since patched the roof, and so far, so good. No more leaks. Monitor got the worst of it. It was leaking out of the bottom all over my headboard shelves. Tower might be salvageable, but I'm not holding my breath. I'm not chancing putting any electronics around the area any more, just as a precaution. So, until I can get a computer up and running to operate at night when I write, I'm even more restricted. *sighs* Someone please tell me that next year will be better... because this year is ending with one tragedy after another.


	98. Where There's A Will, There's A Streak

Where There's A Will, There's A Streak

MERRY CHRISTMAS! The site was down all day, but I had to deliver my present to ya'll. :D

THANK YOU to all who reviewed and sent their condolences. I hope and pray for everyone to have a safe and happy holiday. I will see you all in the new year!

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"Sideswipe, you have mail," Red Alert called over shipwide comm.. He had been unable to locate the sneaky Lamborghini and it was making him nervous. Ratchet gave him a patch to help, but he could feel his processor burning with paranoia.

It was several long minutes before Sideswipe answered, using the ships comms and not his personal freq. where he could be tracked. "From who?"

"Some sort of law office," Red Alert said, looking at the manilla envelope with the official looking court stamp on it.

"If that is another traffic ticket," Prowl threatened over the line.

"No, I've been behaving," Sideswipe called.

"That would be a first," Ratchet chided.

"Are we being sued?" Jazz asked, knowing Sideswipe had a tendency to destroy property. He had gotten a little crazy during the last Con skirmish and tried to shove a Volvo up Astrotrain's aft. Surely the owner was distressed over losing their vehicle and wanted compensation?

"I have not received any human inquires pertaining to damage,' Prowl said, wondering if there was something he missed.

"Hey, maybe its your paternity tests," Sunstreaker put in, earning a hearty round of snickers.

"I wouldn't claim him,' Ironhide snorted.

"Not that kind of test," Sunstreaker groaned, rolling his eyes though no one could see him as he was currently relaxing Sideswipe-free in his quarters.

"Primus, I didn't need _**that **_mental picture," Jazz moaned, facepalming

"Sideswipe, I suggest you find out what's going on so we may prepare accordingly,' Prowl state, heading toward Red Alert's security room to meet the red Lambo. If there was something amiss, Prowl could figure out a way around it. Or at least, keep the rest of the Autobots from suffering from something that Sideswipe did. He was notorious for getting everyone else in trouble along with himself. The fewer injuries the better.

A muffled boom was heard and much to Red Alert's surprise, one of his cameras didn't blank with static for a section while the system recalibrated from whatever Wheeljack blew up.

"Sorry guys," Wheeljack said. "It wasn't a big explosion. Just a car stereo."

"Oh man," Jazz and Blaster chimed in together. They could feel its passing in their subwoofers.

Sideswipe strolled out of a storage locker in the Theta hall. Red Alert narrowed his optics. He wondered why he couldn't detect the sneaky mech. Sideswipe had placed a blinder on the scanner to fake him out with an empty, ordinary looking hall. Wheeljack's accident with the stereo uncovered the subterfuge.

A few minutes later Sideswipe sauntered up to the security door, his brow quirking when he found Prowl waiting just outside the door.

"You being sent the principals office, too?" Sideswipe asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Prowl asked, looking confused.

"Never mind," Sideswipe sighed and knocked. A buzz sounded granting access. As soon as he was over the threshold he called, "Honey, I'm home!"

"The currier delivered this envelope this morning," Red Alert said, pretending to be wary of Sideswipe though he had already commed the video feed to Prowl who was going to deal with the matter later. "What were you up to?"

"Nothing, honey," Sideswipe said, accepting the envelope and finding it already torn open. "You read my mail?"

"Standard procedure," Red Alert said.

Sideswipe looked to Prowl. "It was a letter from a lawyer. What could have possibly meant Decepticon incursion from that?"

Prowl nodded in understanding. "Red Alert, please refrain from opening mail until granted permission by the recipient to whom it was intended."

"I had to make sure it wasn't tampered with," Red Alert sad defensively.

"It is from a human lawyer. What kind of threat could they pose?" Prowl asked.

Sideswipe extracted the thin sheet of paper and scanned the black and white surface. "It says here that I am required to attend a reading of a will." Sideswipe frowned, looking up to Prowl. "Will what?"

"I do believe it is a human custom," Prowl said, accepting the letter an scanning its content. Sure enough. Sideswipe was requested to attend the reading of a will. "When humans terminate, they bequeath items of sentimental or monetary value to friends or family. It says if time is amendable, please contact their office and confirm or reschedule."

Sideswipe looked blankly at the piece of paper. "Does this mean I'm in trouble?"

"No, it means that you have been bequeathed something from a human who has passed," Prowl said, noting the date and time was in three days at two in the afternoon. Which would mean that the human would have to come here and use the conference room. The main hub couldn't be used because too many of the bots used Tele-tran's feeds to watch their soaps. If Prowl stopped the broadcasts for something as simple as reading a piece of paper, then there could be a mutiny on the Ark.

"Thursday at two, the lawyer will be here," Prowl said, handing Sideswipe back the missive.

The red Lambo glance to the tiny white sheet again, feeling unease in his tank. When he looked back to Prowl, his optics were beseeching. "Will you stay with me while the lawyer is here?"

"If you so wish," Prowl nodded. He secretly enjoyed being legal minded. It had certainly come in handy with local law enforcement, especially concerning two guilty Lamborghinis.

"Thanks," Sideswipe said and he sounded genuinely relieved.. "I don't know what this will thing is, or why a lawyer has to be deliver something, but I don't want to be caught unaware."

"Insight." Prowl gave a single dip of his helm. He couldn't help but wonder what Sideswipe could have gotten into that would require someone bequeathing him something, officially leaving it to him in a will. Prowl had to really stamp on his curiosity, lest it get the better of him.

000000 000000 00000000

Three days later a top of the line Mercedes rolled up to the entrance to the Ark. Red Alert gently alerted the base.

"There's a human at our doorstep driving a Mercedes," Red Alert barked over ships and personal comms frequs. "He may be in league with the Decepticons!"

"It's the lawyer you spazz,' Sideswipe said, abandoning the firing range where he had been practicing his targeting skills against Ironhide. Hoping to scare a human, Ironhide tagged along, a giant cannon cradled in his arms and a deeply etched, serious expression on his face. Which meant he was tickled like a child during the holidays.

As promised, Prowl exited the Ark just as Sideswipe and Ironhide came around the mountain from the firing range. The lawyer was an older gentleman, obviously intimidated by the sheer size of the giant alien robots who walked toward him and shook the ground with their steps.

"Wh.. which one of you is Mr. Sideswipe" The man asked, his voice quavering a little as he looked between the three titans.

'That would be me," Sideswipe said, rocking to one hip and giving his most alluring smile.

Sunstreaker chose that moment to make his entrance. He glided up beside of Sideswipe, looking down his olfactory cense to the human. "Are you the lawyer?"

"Yes,' the man said, trying and failing to regain his stoicism. "Mr. Zibold."

"Please explain to me how my brother was able to get mentioned in a human's will," Sunstreaker said, glaring at Sideswipe who maintained a cheeky pose. Sunstreaker wouldn't doubt his twin had pimped himself out. Sideswipe was cheap that way.

'Brother?" Mr. Zibold gasped, looking between the two. He noticed both had similar builds and their body language was indicative of siblings.

"Twins actually," Sideswipe said, nodding toward Sunstreaker.

"Twins?" The lawyer repeated faintly. His brow knitted together as he thought about the familiar roles. These metal giants may be from another planet, but they have family structures. Maybe they weren't so different after all?

Sideswipe smirked, sending a tickle of amusement over the bond he shared with his brother. Sunstreaker smirked, knowing the line of thought Sideswipe was entertaining.

Humans were such funny creatures. They were intimated by the Cybertronians, and rightfully so, giving their size different and the squishability of the human body. But once people realized there were _families_, brothers,_ twins_, however rare in Cybertronian history, they relaxed around the alien beings. Both twins thought it hilarious that humans could easily wrap their minds around the concept of families and brotherhoods, but to contemplate the actual _act_ that created those family units? Unthinkable! Family was an easy concept. Possible avenues of conception? Not so much.

"This is pertaining to the estate of Mr. Peterson." Zibold said, lifting his briefcase to indicate the documents.

"Would you like to find a more comfortable place to read the will?" Prowl asked, gesturing inside the Ark.

"You mean, I'm allowed to go in?" Zibold asked, staring wide eyed a the gaping yaw that was the entrained to the crashed spaceship.

"It has already been cleared by Optimus Prime and our security chief," Prowl said, kindly, noting the human's heart rate had skyrocketed. "Please, we have a conference room that may accommodate both our frames."

The man nodded and followed Prowl into the opening that lead into their base. The first thing the lawyer noticed was the hideous shade of burnt pumpkin that adorned the walls. Surely an alien race had better color schemes? Was their ship decorator color blind?

"Me, Slag, going to get you, Sludge," came the shouting over the heavy footfalls of Dinobot feet. Sludge came barreling around the corner, his running steps sounding like a concentrated earthquake.

"No," Sludge called over his long back just as the triceratops appeared from the hall.

The lawyer watched in wide eyed fascination as the triceratops chased after the brontosaurus. It wasn't every day one witnessed metal fossils running down the hall.

"Slag, Sludge, what did I say about playing indoors?" Prowl barked, making both Dinobots skid to a halt. Sludge lowered his long neck, properly chastised.

"No running in the house," Sludge repeated.

"Yes, that is correct. Now, kindly take your game outside and try not to set the surrounding woodlands on fire."

Sludge dipped his head and meekly walked down the hall and out of the Ark, where he took off for the trees, Slag hot on his tail.

"Please excuse the Dinobots," Prowl said kindly. "They forget their size and strength."

The lawyer offered a silent nod and continued to follow the black and white Autobot toward a door that was so big, two semis could have parked lengthwise in its breadth. Much to his surprise, the conference room was quite spacious, but dividers had been put in place, making the room look smaller, less intimidating. One top of the conference table was a dais that allowed human counterparts to ascend stairs and be at a better level to converse with the Cybertronians. Mr. Zibold climbed the many stairs, huffing and puffing by the time he reached his seat. He sat down with strained noise and placed his briefcase on the table. Sideswipe was directed to sit in front of him, Prowl on his right, Sunstreaker his left. The lawyer took several times to regain his breath, which he covered up by searching through the many documents in the leather case. When he was ready, he looked up to the expectant Lamborghini and started.

"Mr. Peterson was a very wealthy man who made sure his friends and family would be well taken care of," Zibold stated.

"What am I being charged with?" Sideswipe immediately asked. Apparently he wasn't familiar with the human custom. Prowl should have known the Lamborghini wouldn't read the datapacket he compiled.

"Charged?" Zibold asked, confused. "You aren't being charged with anything. You are receiving a piece of Mr. Peterson's estate."

"I get a state?" Sideswipe asked already knowing the first thing he was going to do as owner of a state was lift speed limits and install race tracks and gas stations at every block.

"**E**state," the lawyer corrected. He noted the golden twin was looking skyward in exasperation and the black and white officer had a blank look like he had fallen asleep. He was vaguely curious if the alien beings suffered from narcolepsy.

"Mr. Peterson had a vast wealth and he made certain bequeaths, and you were listed as a beneficiary."

Sideswipe leaned over to where Prowl sat, impassive as ever. "Beneficiary?"

Prowl gave a barely perceivable nod toward the lawyer, redirecting Sideswipe's attention as Zibold began to read from the huge sheaf of papers.

"The part of the first part, hereby known as the bequeathed, as related to the party in the second part," the lawyer droned on.

"What's he saying?" Sunstreaker whispered.

"I don't know,' Sideswipe said, gracing his twin with a devilish smirk. "I'm already planning the party!"

Prowl kicked Sideswipe under the table. There was a loud grinding crash as their metal legs collided but it had the desired effect. Sideswipe focused.

"Perhaps if you merely cut to the chase?" Prowl suggested, remembering Sideswipe's short attention span. Honestly, the mech was worst then the Dinobots at times. At least they had the excuse of youth on their sides.

"Certainly,' Zibold said. The other beneficiaries had already collected. Sideswipe was the last one and he had purposefully kept him last so he could have the opportunity to witness the aliens up close. On tv they looked smaller and less intimidating. His opinion changed when he was face to face with them. Well, face to ankle, when they were standing.

"Due to your selfless work at the children's hospital, Mr. Peterson leaves you one million dollars.'

"What?" Prowl asked, looking shocked. It wasn't natural to see the Praxian with his mouth hanging open.

"Say again?" Sunstreaker said, staring at the tiny human.

"One million dollars,' the lawyer repeated.

"No, not that,' Sunstreaker said. The money was meaningless to him. Both had substantial human credits thanks to Sunstreaker's art and Sideswipe's wise investments. "The part about my brother at a children's hospital."

"As I understand it, Mr. Sideswipe volunteers at a children's hospital every week."

Sunstreaker turned in slow motion, looking at his brother with something akin to disbelief. Sideswipe's embarrassment was answer enough.

"Since when?" Sunstreaker asked.

"Just over a year," Sideswipe answered.

"Is that why you ask for Mondays off?" Prowl asked looking at the Lambo with in a new light.

"Yeah, gives Sunny times to enjoy an extended weekend and have some peace and quiet," Sideswipe gave a half shrug. "And it's a lot of fun hanging out with those mini humans."

"Apparently your visits had quite the impact on Mr. Peterson as well," the lawyer stated. "There has been an account set up in your name and you may do what you like with the funds."

"Don't need it," Sideswipe said wit a wave of his hand. "Give it to the hospital."

"Beg your pardon?" the lawyer asked. He had yet to meet someone who would turn down a million dollars.

"I have plenty of human money," Sideswipe said explained. "Give my part of the state to the kids. I'm sure they could use it. I believe several of them were struggling to pay for their medical services. The money can go to help the families pay for diagnostics and realignments."

Zibold blinked, trying to comprehend what the metal giant was trying to say.

"Charitable donation," Prowl said with a shake of his helm. "I never believed this act of kindness would be from you."

"I'm a really loveable bot," Sideswipe said, batting his optics at Prowl. He waggled his brow and added, "If you ever want to find out **how **loveable, I'm sure we could come to an arrangement."

As Sideswipe hoped, the lawyer sputtered, staring wide eyed and slack jawed at the metal beings. Apparently his organic mind was able to piece two and two together and create a form of physical intercourse. Sideswipe captured the look and archived it. He loved humans and their expressions.

"Please excuse, Sideswipe," Prowl said courteously to the lawyer.

"You heard my squeak?" Sideswipe asked, shifting forward and glancing over his shoulder. "Sorry about that. Thought my parts were well oiled."

"Primus, why me?" Sunstreaker grumbled, looking skyward in exasperation.

"Sideswipe believes he is funny and enjoys employing practical jokes,' Prowl said as if never interrupted. "He doesn't seem to realize his humor is lacking."

"Nothing lacks with me," Sideswipe said, then frowned, trying to decipher what he just said. Sometimes his mouth operated faster than his processor.

The human shook his head. "If you wish to donate the money I can have the proper paper work filed by Monday."

"Sure," Sideswipe shrugged. "Put everything Mr. Peterson gave me in the hospital account. Help the bitlets and their families."

The lawyer nodded faintly. He could feel a headache coming on. One that was usually associated with his exasperating brothers who tried his patience and tested his resolve.

"I will have the paperwork ready by Monday that way you may also write off the donation on your tax return," he said, then paused, looking to the metal beings. It just occurred to him that they may not pay taxes.

"I'll need all the forms,' Sunstreaker said, gaining the human's attention. "I do our taxes and oversee the accounts."

The lawyer gave a nod of understanding, feeling a dull pounding behind his eyes. Oh yeah, definitely a family kind of migraine forming.

"Very well," he said, placing the will back into his briefcase. He glanced over to the stairs and felt his heart sink with the prospect of traipsing down the endless flight.

"Would you care for some assistance?" Prowl asked, rising from his seat and offering his hand.

The lawyer eyed the offered hand hesitantly then nodded. Prowl picked him up and set him on the floor. The lawyer held his breath the entire time he as in Prowl's grip, fearing he would be crushed. Much to his surprise, the metal digits were supportive but not restricting.

"Would you like a tour of the base?" Prowl offered, knowing the humans tended to request such a thing whenever they visited.

Just as predicted, the lawyer nodded, elated to see more of the giant aliens. Prowl motioned for the man to follow him and together they exited the conference room, leaving the twins alone in silence.

Sunstreaker eyed his twin, feeling that flipping giddiness that always pervaded when Sideswipe was pleased.

"What do you _really_ do on Mondays?" he asked.

Sideswipe gave a partial shrug. "I go to the children's hospital and play with them."

"Play?" Sunstreaker asked skeptically.

"The ones who are able, can be picked up and carried around, but some of them are placed inside and I drive around the grounds with them pretending to drive."

"Why?" Sunstreaker couldn't fathom amore horrible situation. The fingerprints alone would be astronomical! And if some were hooked to fluids, well, accidents were not in Sunstreaker's agenda.

"Some of them are really sick, Sunny," Sideswipe said, ignoring the dark thrum of anger from the use of the dreaded nickname. "Some of them won't live long enough to see their final upgrades. Last year, a little boy had a wish that he would meet an Autobot and since Prowl was in a foul mood, I volunteered before he could punish me." Sideswipe shrugged. "It was great. The little boy got to ride in a fast, expensive, beautiful car. He got to 'drive'…. I took him on a quick flight around the grounds and his parental units nearly blew their gaskets. Apparently young humans who are sick shouldn't be off the ground. I don't know why they were so upset. I was very careful with him. And he loved it. He kept telling me to go higher and faster." Sideswipe sighed at the memory. "Human after my own spark."

"Do you still see him?" Sunstreaker asked.

Sideswipe shook his head, looking away from his brother. The pain coming over their link made Sunstreaker draw up in concern.

"He terminated eight months later," Sideswipe said. "That was the day I asked you to cover for me on patrol. I wasn't pulling a prank. I was attending his burial services."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Sunstreaker asked. He could feel the hurt coming from his twin and it bothered him that his brother was aching on such a personal level. Especially over something that had been unknown.

"You don't like the humans very well," Sideswipe shrugged. "And I figured you would refuse to go."

"You're right, I don't want to," Sunstreaker said. The idea of sickness in his interior was making his own tanks churn.

"It's fine. You don't have to," Sideswipe said, getting up from the table to take his leave. "It's become something special between me and the little bitlets anyway."

"What do you get out of it?" Sunstreaker asked, rising to follow his twin.

Sideswipe shook his head in submission. "It eases my spark. When I play with the human bitlets, the war and loss that we have suffered, doesn't seem so heavy."

"Hope," Sunstreaker muttered, having found a name for the sensation that filtered over the link.

"And joy,' Sideswipe amended. "And I think that's something we all need, to some degree or another."

Sunstreaker nodded mutely.

"Now, let's go remove our plating and go run around in our protoforms and scare the slag out of that lawyer!" Sideswipe crowed, leading his twin out the door and to their quarters, where they could strip and terrorize the unsuspecting man.

**{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]][[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]**

**A nekid Lambo for Christmas... what could be better to end a year?**

**Peace and joy to each of you in the coming year.**

** PJ**


	99. Thorns In My Side

Thorns In My Side

AN: Yes, I know its been ages and I figured it was time to update this fic. Sorry I have been remiss. Super busy. But I hope to get back on a schedule. Trying to get my creative juices flowing again. I'm sure my fellow writers can understand the problems with writer's block and lack of motivation.

I missed you all and I sincerely hope I didn't lose anyone. *big hugs to all*

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Sunstreaker sighed, sitting at the entrance to the ARK, his engine idly on high. He was losing his patience. His ire died down when Optimus Prime exited the crashed ship and joined the Lamborghini.

"I hope you don't mind the slower pace," Prime said as he transformed and flanked Sunstreaker.

"Sir?" Sunstreaker asked, his frustration now gone.

"I'm afraid you're stuck with me for this patrol," Prime said, rolling forward ever so slightly to show his readiness for the task.

"You? On patrol?" Sunstreaker asked sounding shocked.

"I have been known to go on the occasional patrol," Prime said. "With our forces in quarantine, I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

Sunstreaker still didn't move. He was either stunned or shut down.

"I'll try to keep up," Prime said, his engine rumbling as he took a fair lead and Sunstreaker's instinct to travel kicked in. The duo took to the highway a moment later.

"We can go at an easier pace," Sunstreaker said, feeling very uncomfortable with Prime at his side. It was different when all were charging into battle. Being alone with the Prime was something else entirely. And Sunstreaker wasn't sure how to act.

"What do you normally do while on patrol?" Prime asked.

"Depends on who I'm with," Sunstreaker answered, feeling exhaustion creep into his frame. He was glad Prime needed a slower pace. The double shifts and extra duties were starting to wear on Sunstreaker. He was going to demand a month off when everyone was back to normal. Course, with only seven mechs able to function, everyone else being quarantined to their quarters due to a nasty virus the Decepticons transmitted last time they fought, there wasn't a high probability he would get his demanded down time.

No one was sure who had transmitted the virus, but footage showed the Cons were struggling when they were caught stealing energon from a power plant, and were too weak to put up a fight. They limped away from the battle, their shoulders slumped and emanating total defeat as they escaped with their meager rations.

Concerned, Prime had ordered Wheeljack to load up a drone with energon and anti-virus programming, and sent it down to Nemesis. If the Cons were infected with the same virus that started dropping the Autobot troops, then it stood to reason, they were just as vulnerable. Very few personnel had the anti-virus ware. The rogue program had been dormant for eons, until some unknown event triggered its coding to start. It was doubtful Hook knew how to combat such a debilitating sickness.

"What do you and Sideswipe talk about?" Prime asked, knowing that was who was able to tolerate being around the little ball of violent sunshine for any length of time.

Sunstreaker was quiet for a moment, unsure how to take the question. If it was Smokescreen, he would have told the fragger to mind his own business and stay out of his processor. If it was Red Alert, he would have told an elaborate story that would send him to med bay and Ratchet screaming like a medical banshee to crown the two prince's of chaos.

But Prime? His question seemed more curious and interested instead of nosy and deliberate. He wasn't trying to get Sunstreaker to talk about his feelings or to decrypt some long forgotten memory that would somehow, miraculously, make his entire life make sense and his choices become clear. Prime was only being his usual self when talking with his troops. It was just hard to see him as a patrol partner and not the one leading your cause.

"Mostly about what goes on at the ARK," Sunstreaker said, knowing Prime wasn't tying to be invasive or mocking. It was a chance to steer the conversation into territory that Sunstreaker was familiar with. It was a very thoughtful gesture.

Typical of Prime.

"Just pretend I'm Sideswipe," Prime said, then gave a low hum and added. "When you _don't _want to throttle him."

Sunstreaker chuckled. It was nice to know the leader of the Autobots wasn't so far removed from the warrior class. Prime would slough in the trenches with everyone one of them, not holding himself exempt for any reason. That was something that Sunstreaker could respect. It was such an attitude that had him gravitating toward the Autobot side before Sideswipe made the decision for him. As soon as Sunstreaker learned that an ordinary dock worker had been claimed by the ancient artifact, his views changed.

Sunstreaker remembered Megatron from the pits. He agreed with a lot of the ex-gladiator had to say, but there was something about him. Mysterious and dark. It was like he was hiding something from the world and after his campaign was in full force, Sunstreaker realized what it was.

Vengeful dominance.

It wasn't an uprising to bring equality. It was an uprising to destabilize the world and allow Megatron to gain the ultimate power. He didn't realize that the matrix of leadership didn't ALLOW itself to be claimed.

It claimed YOU. Not the other way around.

Megatron still thirsted for the matrix, threatening to rip it from Prime's chest and plant it into his own. Little did anyone know, Megatron had orchestrated the last Primes demise and had tried to take the Matrix for himself.

And he ended up flat on his aft, waking up many cycles later. His dreams were haunted, showing him the lives he had taken and the sickening joy it had brought him. When he'd awake, ghostly images of the dying mechs surrounding him, their sparks flickering in their transparent bodies, crying for the mech who had terminated them. But Megatron paid them no heed. He ignored those ghosts and allowed them to fall into silence.

"…You.. Sunstreaker?" Prime said, breaking Sunstreaker's nostalgic thoughts.

"Sorry, what?" Sunstreaker asked.

"I said, I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before." Prime repeated for the fourth time.

"Not much to laugh about." Sunstreaker said, feeling a little surge of pride that the Prime would notice such a thing about a lowly commoner.

"You should laugh more often," Prime suggested.

"I'd glitch Prowl," Sunstreaker snorted, earning a hearty laugh from Prime as well.

"Then Ratchet would step in," Prime added, "And you know how Sideswipe loves to be in the thick of things and instigate another wrench fit. Which would culminate in Sideswipe getting his aft beaten."

"And then I'd laugh at that," Sunstreaker added. "Sometimes I wonder why Ratchet and Prowl don't loosen their plating. They're so uptight, it's unhealthy."

"I can mention it in the next officers meeting," Prime supplied.

Sunstreaker was glad he was in vehicle mode. He stated laughing, the mirth making him waver on the road.

"So, what do you talk to your brother about on these drives?" Prime asked. He was enjoying the exercise and the scenery. He may have to put himself on the schedule more often.

"Whatever is on our processors," Sunstreaker said, shrugging by lifting his chassis off the road a little higher. "Mostly we just complain. Who's slagged us off. What we'd like to do to them."

"Sounds therapeutic," Prime quipped, "Go on."

"Like Gears," Sunstreaker said, forgetting the identity of his partner and focusing on the normal routine. "He kept rattling off about how many aches and pains he has and here Ironhide's been limping all month because of a busted knee joint Ratchet doesn't have the resources to replace."

Sunstreaker indicated his exit, Prime following behind, surprised at the sedate pace and continued explanation from Sunstreaker.

"I'd like to tape his mouth shut and tell him if he can't find anything positive to say, then shut the slag up. The rest of us are tired of his griping when some of us are in worse shape. At least he can get his parts replaced because he had a basic model. Those with modifications are stuck enduring make shift repairs and ill fitting replacements. But we make do. "

"I didn't know how annoying that could be,' Prime said in a soft tone.

"And Mirage, the simpering little Tower Brat," Sunstreaker fumed, taking the exit and turning left to the outskirts of the city. "He thinks everyone is below him. He doesn't know what its like, having to scrape for every bit of energon you can find and having your tank so empty, it rattles. He's never been hungry, homeless, and alone."

Prime thought about reminding Sunstreaker that he was never alone, but something stopped him. There was an edge to Sunstreaker's voice. It was bitter with memories. Prime didn't want to reopen old wounds.

"Maybe if the slagger had lived like some of us, he'd have better respect for those who's seen the Pit and survived," Sunstreaker grumbled. Another turn, three blocks and turn again and Prime noticed the buildings and the pedestrians drastically changed. "I'd like to see him spend one Earth month living like I had to in Kaon."

"Sunstreaker, where are we?" Prime asked,

"Bad part of town," Sunstreaker supplied, forgetting it was Prime rolling along behind him. "I video the buildings and people and relay it to the local police departments so they can monitor any illegal activity."

"That's…. ingenious," Prime praised though he sounded surprised.

"It was Sideswipe's idea," Sunstreaker offered, his cameras catching every little detail and transferring it to a datachip. "He thought if he sucked up the human police, they'd stop pulling us over."

"Has it worked?"

"Haven't had a ticket in four months," Sunstreaker answered, weaving a pattern through the streets and collecting tons of data.

"So what else bothers you with your comrades?" Prime asked.

Sunstreaker continued his recording, oblivious to his audience.

"Inferno mopes around for Firestar all the time and it's annoying, listening to him pine for his femme," Sunstreaker said, not remembering he was talking to a bonded mech.

"Blaster and Jazz have competitions at all hours of the day and night, inconsiderate of those who don't want to hear the racquet in the first place. Then you have the humans who hover around the base, and make it to where we can't enjoy ourselves in case of upsetting or stepping on them. Not to mention their rules, regulations, arguing nations, differing cultures, outlandish biases and prejudices and over stupid things like… colors!" Sunstreaker huffed, sending his radar further into a building and scanning its contents before moving on. "I mean, you would think the human race was full of aspiring artists. All arguing over who has the most abundant colors. It's ridiculous and a waste of time! I don't know why we put up with them, but Prime says we have to."

Prime rolled silently along. It was amazing how quiet he could be, being such a big truck.

"Then Hoist and Grapple keep arguing over what to build and keep asking for permission to build something and yet they keep being denied because Prime doesn't want to hurt the humans feelings when all he's doing is making his own troops miserable and not allowing them to do what comes naturally to them." Sunstreaker lead the way through the bad part of town and took the first exit to get back on the interstate for the seaside route before doubling back. He didn't realize he was doing a perfect imitation of Bluestreak. "The Dinobots are too young and immature to know what's really going on. No one looks after them, like the younglings they are. The Aerialbots are just as naïve, and though they have decent processors, they have the emotional range of a sparkling. Slag, even their leader is terrified of _flying_! How mentally stable does one have to be to be in the Autobots?"

Prime kept his vocalizer off, allowing Sunstreaker the chance to vent. He was certainly providing a whole new perspective on the crew. Prime didn't realize how much infighting there was amongst his ranks. Apparently they were well skilled at hiding it from him. Or Prowl had dealt with it, and that thought didn't make Prime feel any better. Surely the mental and emotional health of his crew was worth his notice? Had he fallen so distant from his troops?

"Then you have Red Alert, who's processor is fried," Sunstreaker babbled on, his soap box holding him while he crowed on the road. "Then Wheeljack's crazy aft, blowing himself and everyone else to the pit and back."

On and on Sunstreaker ranted, winding the way back toward the base. Prime didn't get a chance to mention Bluestreak and his strange omission from the conversation. Considering he talked so much it annoyed everyone around him, Prime was sure that Sunstreaker would find fault with the young gunner. But Bluestreak's name wasn't mentioned.

"And then Prime!" Sunstreaker fumed, the last stretch of highway opening up before the exit that led to base.

"What about me?" Prime asked, more than a little curious as to his artistically perceived faults.

Sunstreaker slammed on his brakes and fishtailed in compensation. He had completely forgotten WHO was patrolling with him. Prime braked to keep form hitting his partner and as one, both transformed. Sunstreaker stared with wide optics and mouth, unsure how to finish his sentence.

"Please, tell me what is my transgression," Prime prompted.

"You can be too nice," Sunstreaker said with reluctance.

"Too nice?" Prime asked.

"Yeah, even when a bots done something bad, you are nice about it and give them an easy pass," Sunstreaker said, feeling as if his tanks wanted to rebel. Now he knew what Sideswipe felt every time he drank too much. It felt vastly different than his second hand suffering.

"You think I should be violent? Perhaps brutal, with my troops?" Prime asked, curious as to how he was to rule over his people. "Be more like Megatron?"

"No, I wasn't saying that," Sunstreaker said, frown creasing his face. "I mean…. sometimes you need to be a little more…" He paused unsure how to put his thoughts into words.

"Don't try to find polite words when coarse will suffice," Prime supplied, knowing the mental war that was going on.

"Dominating?" Sunstreaker said, then shook his head, looking at Prime. "Sometimes you're too much of a push over. You let the humans make all kinds of rules, and then demand that everyone follow them, when we ourselves don't abide by certain things. We are **not** human and its _offensive_ we have to abide by their rules just to make them happy."

"We follow their rules because this is their world," Prime reminded Sunstreaker. It was strange hearing such things. He thought everyone was incorporating well with their human allies.

"But even on their planet, they respect other cultures and allow them to express themselves," Sunstreaker said, throwing his hands up and motioning to the deserted area around them. "But here, where we crashed before their civilization even existed, we're reduced to foolish slaves who aren't allowed to exercise our own cultures and freedom." Sunstreaker huffed through his vents, his expression darkening toward the sound of rumbling traffic. "We were here first and yet, we are treated as nothing more than machines for their protection and occasional amusement. We have to ask _**permission **_to do the basic, simplest of things."

"That is not how we are treated," Prime interjected.

"Oh really?" Sunstreaker asked, crossing arms over his chassis and adopting a lax pose. "So the embassies and dignitaries who ask for us to come and help them out and then parade us around like well trained automobiles, and even let their people come 'pet' us, that isn't degrading?"

"We extend the hand of friendship to all, regardless of their nationality," Prime said, not seeing Sunstreaker's point. He had ensured all cultures were included, not wanting to discriminate against any certain sect.

"There's extending the hand of friendship, then there's allowing micro-organisms to walk all over you and treat you as _property _instead of intelligence, sentient, living beings," Sunstreaker added. "When the humans want to show us off, they call us up, sometimes without warning, and expect us to drop everything we're doing and cater to them."

"That is.." Prime started, but Sunstreaker interrupted.

"That's exactly what goes on!" Sunstreaker snapped. "Last week, did the humans give us more than two hours to let us know they were coming and did their representatives treat us like we were their prized possessions?" Prime opened his mouth to speak but Sunstreaker raised his voice and continued. "And then these…. these…_ invaders_…come into our _**home**_, the only place we have left of our world, and then proceed to tell **us** that we are going to have to share technology with them if we wish to _**keep**_ their friendship!"

Prime scowled, wondering how Sunstreaker knew of such information. He wasn't privy to the officer's meeting.

"We're supposed to express our gratitude toward beings who claim to be our allies and yet when we require parts or fuel, they barter with us to gain advances in technology that they should earn for themselves and share with all of their people and nations," Sunstreaker snapped. Apparently this type of transgression had been boiling beneath the surface like an angry volcano. "We fight to protect them and their planet from Decepticons and in return, we have to beg… _**beg**_, Prime, for supplies that they ration to us. If we wish to build housing or a fuel center, they refuse, or give us regulations on what we are allowed to do." Sunstreaker glared at Prime, his optics nearly white with his anger. "We have to **ask, **to live. It's the old senate all over again."

Prime's brow etched in thought. He didn't trust himself to speak, giving Sunstreaker the time he needed to voice his opinion.

"We had to bow and scrape to those in power on Cybertron, and now, on another planet, we're doing it again," Sunstreaker said, throwing up his arms in exasperation. "The humans have assumed the role of lords and masters over the slaves and you wonder why I don't hold any affection toward the race."

"I never realized…" Prime muttered, lost in thought.

"I've been a slave, I know what it feels like," Sunstreaker admitted, his face heating with the affirmation. Prime's expression was shocked as he continued. "And I know freedom. I fought for freedom since joining your campaign. And now, on another planet, we're under oppression."

Prime's voice was robbed when Red Alert cut over the comms.

'**Red Alert to Optimus Prime,'** he said, sounding on the verge of panic. Again.

'**Prime here.'**

'**Sir, there are several representatives of Earthen government here and they are requesting your presence,'** Red Alert said.

'**On my way,**' Prime said, transforming and leading the way back to the ARK. Within a few moments the entrance appeared, several human limousines parked around the crashed ship.

Sunstreaker followed at a sedate pace, his gaze drifting over the pompous aristocrats that demanded the world's attention. He wanted to step on every one of them. But, he refrained. When he made to go to the washracks and soak the road grit from his undercarriage, Prime halted his escape.

"Sunstreaker, with me," Prime said, sounding strangely formal.

Sunstreaker paused for half a spark beat, thinking that Prime was going to issue his immediate reprimand for voicing his thoughts. But Prime didn't appear to be angry. He lead the way into the main conference room that had been reformatted to accommodate human visitors. Sunstreaker had a bad feeling he was about to get a public reprimanding. There were at least a dozen nations represented, with nearly forty people. They all smiled when the Autobot leader entered the room.

"Ah, yes, the Autobot leader," the president said, waving his arm like a game show hostess toward the towering alien. "This is Optimus Prime, our esteemed ally."

"I'm sorry, Mr. President but there has been some matters that require my attention,' Prime started, giving a courtesy bow to the foreign dignitaries. "I am afraid I can not afford you any time today. Other matters are more pressing."

The president seemed taken aback. He scowled, then smiled, waving his hand again. "These are the other allies that represent the more powerful nations in the world. Our time is valuable."

"As is mine," Prime said, keeping his tone even. Now that his optics had been opened, there were quite a few things falling into place. How could he have been so blind before?

"These honored guests wish to tour your base and hear of your world," the president said, looking every bit the pompous ass showing off a prized stallion.

"A tour is not possible at this moment, but if you contact us later, we may schedule a time where we can all sit down and have a thorough conversation," Prime said, offering a bow and turning to take his leave.

"I don't think you understand," the president said, losing all pretense of politeness. "We _**want **_to tour your base."

Prime turned in slow motion, his optics becoming hard, cold.

"Perhaps it is a good thing that so many are here as witness," Prime said slowly. He turned to face the human dignitaries, "You insist we are allies and yet when my people are injured and require medical services, you are reluctant to provide such life saving charity. When the lives of my soldiers hang in the balance, you barter their lives for weapons technology."

Several faces turned hostile toward the president at this tidbit of information.

"We have reminded you many times that we do not share such technology, especially with beings who have proven they are ill equipped to deal with such advancements," Prime continued, his stare, hard and unwavering.

"You forget your place,' the president warned.

"No, Mr. President, you forget yours," Prime corrected. "According to human custom and law we can evoke our right to citizenship. We can prove that we landed on this Earth before your nation came into existence," Prime said, noting that several of the dignitaries looked shocked at the thought of such ancient beings. "To put it in simple terms, **we** were here first, on the planet and on this island you name as a nation."

The president looked ready to burst a blood vessel but Prime continued.

"We endanger our lives protecting your **people,** your _property_, your very **lives** from those who wish to destroy it, and in return, we are forced to endure the handouts that you toss our way," Prime said, coming to stand by the table. He towered over the humans, powerful and awe-inspiring and Sunstreaker couldn't help but feel his armor swell with pride. "If you believe that we are indebted to you, or that we hold allegiance to only you, then you are mistaken." Prime's optics swiveled to the other nations represented and added, "We _belong_ to **no** nation but of ourselves. You forget that you are not the only representative of this planet. There are other lands who would welcome us to their shores, or we can relocate to a remote area where no one lays claim."

"But, that would leave us unprotected," the president said, his mind filled with images of damage the Decepticons could inflict if the Autobots weren't there to stop them.

"We would never turn our backs on those who need assistance," Prime said, his voice rumbling and causing a couple of the humans to shudder. "And if we are forced to relocate, we may enact another human tradition of creating a consulate so that my people would be protected and safe as they protect your people from Decepticon attack."

"A consulate is a wonderful idea," a large man said, looking ecstatic at the idea of hosting the robotic aliens. "I would be delighted to welcome some of your people to my country."

"That is a generous offer, I thank you," Prime said. "However we are currently operating with what you call a 'skeleton crew.'"

"How many more people do you have?" a woman asked. She had dark, olive skin and a gentle demeanor.

"I do not know how many has survived the war," Prime admitted, his spark feeling heavy. "We have been unable to reach my homeworld."

"A world destroyed by war," the olive skinned woman commented, exchanging looks with her fellow ambassadors. "And I believe a Consulate for your people would be an excellent idea."

"Thank you," Prime said, offering a nod of respect to the dignitaries. "Now, I do hope you can excuse me. I have much to prepare, and like your own governments, there is multicolored tape."

"Red tape," the president corrected. He wasn't too happy about losing his biggest bargaining chip when it came to throwing his weight around the national union.

"Yes, the 'red tape' associated with declaring rights and enacting laws that protect a people or nation," Prime said, hiding his smile. He noted the human's lack of empathy toward the Autobot plight.

"If you require anything, you may call upon my nation to assist," a man said, ignoring the shocked looks from his comrades before they too gathered their wits and proclaimed their help.

"It is appreciated," Prime said, raising his hand and allowing the humans to fall silent. "However, as I stated before, I am pressed for time and there are things that require my immediate attention. If all of you wish to sit with me in counsel, I would be honored."

"Of course, you have your own nation to rule," the president said, wearing a smile so false his face wanted to crack.

"Thank you," Prime said with another nod, though the action lacked the respect it reflected toward the other human.

Prowl entered the room at that time, curious as to why Prime had called him away from his duties. He was just about to rip Sideswipe a new one when Prime had commed him.

"Sir?" Prowl asked, coming to stand by his leader.

Prime sent a data packet as he answered, "Please see to it that our honored guests have been scheduled to attend a meeting with me at a later date."

Prowl absorbed the information at light speed before giving a curt nod. "Of course, Sir."

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," Prime said with a bow and turned on his heel. He shared a glance with Sunstreaker, who recognized the unspoken command and followed his Prime out the door.

"Sir?" Sunstreaker asked after a moment. He felt odd saying the title, but it seemed necessary, given the recent events. He really didn't want to be reprimanded for speaking out of turn.

"I am giving you a special assignment," Prime said as they walked toward the command center. He didn't wait for Sunstreaker to affirm the order before adding, "You are to have Ratchet correlate a supply list and have it categorized in order of necessity. You will also speak to Hoist and Grapple about building a compound that we may use as a base and consulate. If they argue, remind them that I have commanded this task and you are authorized to keep them on maintaining an air of professionalism."

Sunstreaker grinned, liking the idea of knocking a couple of heads together. He had seen it in a movie and wondered if it was feasible with his comrades. He wondered if their helms made that 'coconut' sound.

"I will also need input on what apparently has escaped my notice since we awoke on Earth," Prime said, looking to Sunstreaker and seeing him smile a genuine smile. It looked odd, but very pleasing. "Also, I want you to assign mechs to the Dinobots and Aerialbots in a mentoring capacity."

"Huh?" Sunstreaker asked, not sure he understand what Prime was asking.

"You are correct," Prime said, continuing on his way and making Sunstreaker run to catch up. "They are young and immature. They need role models and mechs they can come to if they are ever inclined."

"Sparkling sitters?" Sunstreaker asked.

"Adults with whom they may learn to grow, emotionally and mentally, to reach their potential," Prime amended. "I expect your report by tomorrow afternoon."

Sunstreaker gave a sigh through his vents and nodded, taking his leave to go find Ratchet and get the supply list started. It was only when he heard the medic shouting at Wheeljack, did Sunstreaker realized he just took over Prowl's role. With a surly expression he entered the med bay, returning Ratchet's bellows as the medic fumed and fussed.

Wheeljack sat idly on the berth, swinging his remaining leg, watching the medic and sociopath argue. When Sunstreaker mentioned the supply list and triage, Wheeljack opened his mouth for a request. Ratchet didn't give him the opportunity. Without looking, he launched a wrench. A satisfying _**clang**_ was his answer, followed by the heavy thud of a body falling offline as Ratchet continued to argue with Sunstreaker.

When Sunstreaker fell to berth that night, he was exhausted far more than what he cared to admit. But he had seen to Prime's instructions. As his system shut down for much needed charge, he smiled, feeling a sense of pride and knowing that he helped win another battle in the name of freedom.

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Reviews would be loved!


	100. Dark Side of the Sun

**Dark Side of the Sun**

**AN: 100 Chapters! WOO HOO! and... 1300+ reviews! WOO HOO again!**

**Did anyone ever think it would go this long? Has it maintained its appeal, or am I slipping? I have about 50 ideas, and only the rough outline/spine of about 20 that's scribbled out, but I intend on devoting some time to them so I can start uploading every other week. **

**Thank you all for your support and devotion. It warms my heart to see the reviews and know that these little drivels are enjoyed. Honestly, I thought they were merely a vague notion. And to my surprise, they just took off with a life of their own. **

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They say all of us have a mean streak. A part of themselves that gets out of control and causes pain and chaos to all those who are stuck in its gravity. I guess their right. I feel it.

All the time.

There's this nagging feeling in the back of my processor, sending random flashes of images into my mind. Mechs I've known for so long, it's hard to imagine a life without their presence. These are the ones I have fought beside, sworn to protect, and have even laid down my own life to preserve theirs. And yet, there's this little niggling feeling, just whispering…. 'What if?'…'What could it hurt?'…. 'Doesn't it feel good when you let me go?'… 'Doesn't the rage make you feel superior?'…. 'How can you deny me'?

Perhaps it isn't just wanting to be mean, per say. Perhaps there's this darkness. An all consuming monster that lurks in the sparks and processors of everyone.

Humans have tons of lore on the subject, even giving it names like "Demon" and "Devil" and claiming their bodies were possessed to perform such heinous acts.

But sometimes I wonder.

One of the basic instincts of life, be it Cybertronian or Earthling, is the will to protect ones own, especially those who are unable to protect themselves. The smaller the victim, the more righteous the aggression.

My brother doesn't seem to make such discriminations. If you have angered him, he will take his aggression out on you. If you're unobtainable, someone close by, who may not have had anything to do with the situation.

They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

So many 'accidents' had been labeled with this fate.

Another basic of sentient life is compassion. That's something else that tends to elude my brother from time to time. Others have chastised him for it, or have tried to give him downloads and patches, thinking it's a malfunction. And since we were younglings, he has habitually tried to understand his apathy, trying to figure out what was wrong. After vorns of study and fruitless endeavors he came to the realization that he was fine. It was **others** who had the problem. They had _too_ much compassion, though it did not stop them from judging and rejecting him, suggesting he should be erased and reprogrammed.

And so the demons began to come to life.

I use the term demons loosely, knowing it would take a rather substantial presence to make one loose control over themselves. Human or Cybertronian, we all possess a strong will power.

But sometimes, when my brother's darkness is so vast I have to vent in fear of self destructing, I can feel that sense of freedom that comes from letting go. Not caring what the world thinks of you and allowing everyone to see such raw power.

The fear, the panic, the helplessness of your chosen victim... it's the most addictive sensation.

And then I'm overcome by the sense of guilt and frustration, magnified by two. My brother knows I have enacted on his behalf, expelling the demons to maintain both of our sanities. His guilt becomes my own, and I feel ashamed for allowing others to see me so out of control and being the epicenter of our wrath.

I may feel powerful at the peak of my rage, but it's when I'm my most vulnerable. It feels so wonderful, handling situations with my hands. It's artist, the way I can calculate frame types to inflict the most damage, and yes, even termination. I know how to make you suffer through your last moments, or to end your misery quickly. During the rare quiet moments, I feel ashamed of this knowledge, but during battle, I find it invigorating and fueling my movements.

It makes the darkness happy.

But the battles don't come as frequently as they used to. Here, on Earth, we wait for squirmishes, and are ordered not to fatally wound. We must preserve life all around us, for now we're an endangered species. My brother's brutality can't be channeled like it used to.

We must lie in wait, participate in patrols, and cater to tiny biological organisms far below us in many aspects. Now his darkness grows as frustration starts to consume him. The organics with their annoying presence, making us wary in our own home, to even walk down the corridor in fear of stepping on one. It would teach them to stay out of our way. But then again, they aren't the most intelligent of creatures we've befriended.

Tracks makes a grating noise as he checks his shoulder joints, earning a stab of ire from my brother. Certain pitches irritate him, sending him into a fury faster than an actual battle. Mirage makes another comment about being superior to the lower classes and wishes things would return to normal on Cybertron. Bumblebee sits and laughs with his human friends, who splash liquids all over their shared table. Smokescreen taunts my brother about his bet, the diversionary tactician intent on winning a few cubes of infamous twin high grade. Hound shakes his body, dislodging several pieces of organic foliage from his frame before heading toward the energon dispenser. Wheeljack sits at a nearby table, scuffing his feet back and forth under the table as he studies the latest schematics for another invention.

This is a typical day for us now. No fighting in constant battles where death awaits like a friendly reminder of your purpose. No training to hone skills, at least not to the expectations my brother and I have become accustomed. We must pull our punches, limit our exertions, and never, by Prime's own command, are we to shed the life blood of our comrades.

But no one understands. They don't comprehend the need to keep the monsters at bay. The abject joy of tearing your enemy apart and watching in satisfaction as the light flickers from this world as they pass into the next. It's a sad, disgusting moment when life fades. But it's also quite beautiful. Something the shadows call for, demand of us. And my brother, being the more emotional one, can't help but to answer their summons like a dumbstruck lover answering the call of the siren.

Wheeljack's feet scuff faster as he happily makes a notation. Smokescreen offers a superior sneer, knowing he has my brother cornered with his bet.

The rage builds. I can feel it as a palpable wave, coming from my twin.

Our unsuspecting teammates continue on, oblivious to the volcano seated among them. Their noises, their manners, even their voices are becoming too much for him to bear. He wants to beat Mirage, rip off Wheeljack's legs, and slam Smokescreen's looming face into the table.

I open my side of the bond, trying to pull his darkness into myself, but he's reluctant to let go. Only a few impulses trickle through. They're not the abyss I'm used to absorbing, but there is definitely a shadow of anger possessing my processor and taking its rightful place in its cage. The fury subsides, knowing it will have its chance soon enough.

He relaxes, returning his attention to the game. Smokescreen gives me a half a glance before returning his attention back to his cards. Sometimes I think he suspects our true nature, but it's hard to tell. His training never included spark twins or the strange bond we possess. In the past he has offered to listen, allow us to unburden ourselves, and every time we reject his help. Some times more violently than others. There are just some cases that can't be helped, no matter how extensive the training or length of practice. Maybe that's why he stopped offering, though I still see the hint of concern in his optics from time to time.

Gears and Windcharger, enter the rec room, and by dumb luck, the two minibots seat themselves at the table behind my brother. They start their usual rounds of complaint, and before I can mentally nudge my twin's mind, I feel a flood of anger and loathing assault me. A small hiss escapes my compressed lips, but it's drown out by the usual noise.

With the fury still streaming into my consciousness, I begin to see mental images of the damage my brother wants to inflict on those around him. Now, instead of merely beating on his comrades, he's seeing fully detailed images of their disfigurement and termination.

The brutality of the images make me want to purge, and suddenly, I sense guilt coming from my twin. He's ashamed of his thoughts, but still, there's a feeling of unbidden destructive passion that boils below the surface. The shame doesn't outweigh the need.

I reach for the sensation with greedy fingers, drawing into myself, hoping to give my twin some respite, and with it, some peace.

Perhaps they're right and we all have a mean streak.

Some can just control it better than others. Which is why I allow my twin to channel his aggression. Send it to me. Let me bear the burden of its weight. I can tolerate the pain and the isolation.

To glance at my brother's friends makes me want to hurt them, but then guilt rises up and squashes the feeling, sending it hissing back into its cage. Back into the safety I have created after vorns of practice. It's channeled into me, blocked off and secreted away where it can do no harm.

At least until the cage is full and the animal has to be temporarily released. It's a curse I'm happy to bear, knowing my brother will never have to face this torment alone. His pain becomes mine.

We are one.

Always.

I feel that dark thrum again and know he's reaching his tipping point. Glancing across the room, I see him collected around his friends, his optics darkening.

I open our bond to the fullest, siphoning his wrath into me and allowing it to consume my thoughts and emotions. I draw this sickness, this hatred, this twisted vile creature away from my twin, allowing it to reign inside me.

I feel the guilty caress of my brother's spark and know he hates himself for the torment he causes. He knows I'm willing to bear the burden of his hatred, and he feels gratitude for being blessed with our connection. His outlet has become my own, allowing me to take the responsibility that weighs so heavily on his spark and threatens to consume him. And though he loathes it, I readily submit to the anguish stealing over my frame and taking over my processor. Not only will my brother find relief, but I can exorcise my demons as well as his own.

We are twins after all.

One spark residing in two bodies.

His red armor flashes in the light, a perfect omen to the rage that's steadily building within him and pouring into me via our bond.

But it's okay.

I can take his demons.

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Yup, you guessed it, Sideswipe is the real loose screw and Sunstreaker channels his rage. It was fun to write this, peeking at their dark side.

Reviews would be LOVED. Makes the muse work double time. ;)


	101. Sordid Sun

Sordid Sun

AN: Corrupted Desires mentioned this awhile back. Hope it meets your expectations! Certainly was fun to write. ;)

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He was a tall mech, at least for his frame type. Pristine white plating, with thin pin striping of black and yellow, highlighted his lithe physique. His armor coverings were thin, obviously not used in fighting and roughhousing. His was the light, snug plating that showed definition to a sculpted body built for pleasure. And he had just performed his last service of the cycle, making a femme scream his designation as she overloaded for him and their audience.

His designation was Slickshaft and he was new to the pleasure circuit. The main city states had allowed televised pleasure sessions, ranging from instructive courses. Frame types. What to avoid when interfacing. How to please mechs or femmes. Incorporation of words to prevent damage from an enthusiastic partner. Variations of props and partners. And sometimes, just plain flat out fragging each other senseless.

All for the education and enjoyment of the population.

It was great being paid to frag, and Slickshaft had already made quite the name for himself in the pleasure business.

Not one to prefer mechs, he was the main educator partnering with femmes, providing some of the more highest rated viewing audiences in the history of the educational programming. He displayed a wide variety of techniques, knew every frame type of femme presented, and could teach his audience how to make them tremble with a few short words, or scream their designations when fragged certain ways. He also offered beginner courses, where newly upgraded adults were introduced to the full pleasure their bodies were capable of.

Most of the other educators and entertainers could finish their sessions in a matter of minutes. Slickshaft had a reputation of making it last an hour, sometimes two. It depended on his partner and how involved he was in the scenario.

The 'Pleasure Times' were usually late in the evening, when most bots would wind down, preparing to charge. One merely turned on the communications hub and dozens of partners would appear. All one had to do was touch the performers icon they wish to watch and they could enjoy an a few minutes to an hour watching bots frag. Slickshaft had the highest rating on record and was maintaining his numbers. something the studio and the sponsors found to be greatly appealing. Their revenues were pouring in, and all they had to do was allow the handsome white plated mech his choice of partners. He never approved of the partners they attempted to pair him with. Instead, he chose his own, and much to the studio's relief, Slickshaft possessed wells of knowledge, endless energy, and had an eclectic taste in frame types.

Slickshaft sauntered down the street, knowing every eye was upon him. Who could resist him? He was absolute perfection! He soaked in the admiration and lust like a drug, and in a way, it was. He was so addicted to the lifestyle. He never wanted to give it up.

Femmes swooned, and lined up outside the studio in hopes of being chosen to share a berth with the reputable mech. All the mechs envied him, and a few petitioned to have the handsome mech as a berth partner. They were all disappointed. Slickshaft liked to pick ordinary femmes and elevate them into screaming stardom.

He was generous that way.

The evening was settling, one of Cybertron's moons hanging mournfully in the distance. Normally, Slickshaft wouldn't be out this time of the evening, but his session had to be cut short due to a huge gathering of the upper class who were going to be eating up all the media attention at the Regent's estate. Word had it that even the Prime was going to be in attendance. So all other programming had to be cut short to compensate.

Granted a rare evening free, Slickshaft had a chance to browse the stores while they were still open. That was the only drawback to Slickshaft's unusual _employment_. Most reputable stores were closed after nightfall.

Media bots began to collect in the distance, where the Regent was going to be holding his gathering of the elite to celebrate a local artist.

Slickshaft was never invited to such fancy gatherings. To invite a 'pleasure educator' into one's home while hosting an elitist event was uncouth, and no one wanted to be labeled something so uncivilized.

The televising station was a few blocks from the main stores that catered to the higher caste. Though Slickshaft had ample credits, his job made him less than acceptable in 'high society.' He entered a shop that sold sweets, and transferring a heft sum, he subspaced a tray of silicon sticks and gelled magnesium. The powered sulfur on an oil cake was his favorite, and a dozen resided in his pocket as he made his exit.

Thinking it was pathetic to return home so early, with all the activity and parties to attend, the white mech decided to check out one of the local merchants. Maybe purchase something extra special, that could grant him higher ratings. Or a polish he could try and then offer to endorse the next time he was performing. There were always avenues in which to exploit.

Just as that thought crossed his processor, a flash of gold caught his optics. The mech's armor shone like a nova, making him a beacon even to those who were not looking. Slickshaft watched as the mech entered a buffing parlor that catered to the exceptionally wealthy.

It took a lot of credits to get waxed and buffed at the small store.

Slickshaft had the credits. With a lot to spare. He covered the distance with his longer stride and entered the shop. A pretty femme in royal plum smiled in welcome from behind a desk.

"Full service is five thousand credits," she intoned, her cheek plates heating as she realized who was standing in front of her. She had many fantasies about the mech who smiled at her behind a deep azure gaze. She felt her knees go weak. She was glad she added a little extra polish this morning.

Slickshaft transferred credits with ease, offering a half smile that didn't reach his optics. Not that the femme noticed. She was starstruck by him. Completely enamored. He could have stuck his glossa out, crossed his optics, and tugged his spike, and she would have thought it was the most alluring and romantic thing she had ever seen.

Slickshaft paid his credits and went to one of the attendants, who bade him to stand on the hydraulic platform. He stood, ignoring everyone around him and pretended to look bored with the whole process. His attendant wiped down his plating with water and soap before toweling him dry. When no beads of moisture remained, the attendant began to apply wax in small, circular motions. It was a thick, heavy substance that had a tang that Slickshaft couldn't place. He tried to glimpse the can's label, but the attendant's servos clutched the can as if it was the most precious thing in the world. It was probably worth his entire salary for a year.

Helm waxed, the attendant picked up a small rotary buffer and started with Slickshaft's smooth, perfectly shaped helm, mindful of his audials. Slickshaft stayed perfectly motionless, allowing the attendant to walk circles around him as he worked, slowly buffing his way down the white plated, agile body.

As the attendant applied his wax to Slickshaft's neck and shoulders, he listened intently to the conversation beside of him.

"Big opening tonight, Stunner," the golden mech said to the mech who was appraising him with a stern look.

Slickshaft knew it was the proprietor of the establishment. He was a walking example of what fine craftsmanship and spark stopping allure should entail.

Stunner's plating was red, with subtle lines of pink and white accenting his body in a very pleasing manner. His fingers were long, tapered, and held a buffer loosely in their grip. Stunner's helm was a retro fashion of ridges, swept back from his face. The middle was more prominent, while smaller ridges accented the sides. His audials were designed in the same swept manner, making him appear elfin. His optic were a bright red to match his paintjob and seemed overly large, yet symmetrical to his design. The mech pulled the look off well. It looked great, especially with his color scheme. He was certainly a knock out.

Stunner spoke with a voice that sounded like rocks in a tumbler, gravely, heavy, rich. His Iaconian accent was barely noticeable.

"Weren't you in here two cycles ago to get your routine buffing?" Stunner asked, sounding annoyed. His ruby optics were looking over the golden armor with intense criticism.

"There is a showing in a couple of hours," the golden mech said in a deep baritone. "I need to look my best."

Slickshaft's attendant continued to polish in little circles along his back and down his right arm, oblivious to the conversation going on beside of him.

"Are you suggesting my work doesn't hold up to elite standards?" Stunner asked, pulling a can of polish from subspace and looking mutinous. The obscured label looked exactly like the one Slickshaft's attendant was holding.

The attendant busied himself buffing Slickshaft's chest, a miniature buffer appearing from his finger and cleaning out the cracks between the white laminate plating. His brow was drawn, concentrating on his job.

"I just want a good buff up," the golden mech said, puffing his golden armor and poising himself in grandiose style as Stunner approached with a specialty buffer. It had an extra thick padded head and spun twice as fast.

"I'll give you a luster to be the envy of even the Prime,' Stunner said and set to work.

When Slickshaft's upper body was pristine and shining like a birthing star, the attendant hit the hydraulic button and made the platform rise, allowing him to apply wax on Slickshaft's lower half.

Stunner was obviously more adept at his job, detailing the golden mech in record time. Though Slickshaft's attendant was good, and his plating did look immaculate, the two artistic polishers finished nearly the same time. Both stood back to admire their work. Full length mirrors popped up from the floor around the dais as it lowered, giving the two mechs a three-sixty view of their bodies and the job done by their buffing attendants.

Slickshaft examined his frame and smiled, finding the luster to be perfect. His plating having never looked so immaculate and stunningly irresistible. Even the multicolored scratches on his body from his partner had been removed, giving him an even, glorious shine that made him look like the heart of a galaxy. It certainly caught the golden mech's attention. His brow ridge arched speculatively as the mirrors lowered and returned to the floor encasements, granting escape.

Slickshaft passed the attendant some credits for a job well done. The attendant blushed, grateful for his tip.

"One last touch," Stunner said, a devilish smirk appearing on his elfish face. He withdrew a silver canister, the label foreign to the bots. He twisted off the top and pulled a large, fluffy brush from subspace. Swirling the swishing brush, he dipped it first in the can, then to the golden mech, making sure to give him an even coat. Every inch was shining as pure liquid metal. When he was finished a luminous, glittery shine adorned the gold.

"It's a form of decorative dust," Stunner informed the impressed golden mech as he surveyed his gorgeous body. No one would be able to resist him. "I believe it's a powdered form of carbon."

Stunner smiled at the attractive mech who was utterly captivating, thanks to his meticulous detailing and hard work.

"Different," the golden mech said, though he didn't sound disappointed. He sounded rather proud to be granted a chance to display something new. And if others liked it, and how could they not when it was dusted on the most beautiful Cybertronian specimen canvas, he could start a new trend.

The golden mech exited the polishing boutique and made his way to a call station for transport. He scanned his ID, deposited credits, and waited for a transport to arrive. A glimmer of white appeared in the corner of his optic. He turned, casting half a smirk to the white mech who had been detailed beside of him. They had made optic contact several times during their polish. When the transport arrived, the golden mech stepped inside.

The transport door remained open in invitation.

The white mech joined the golden, and together they rose high above the city in a skyscraper that was nearly as posh as one of the esteemed Towers. The golden mech keyed in his access code and double doors whooshed back to allow the two bots entrance into the spacious apartment.

The golden mech went to the high grade shimmering on shelves behind a bar. There were an assortment of colors, all registering different additives and potencies. He chose a strong high grade, one usually reserved for seekers, and poured the white plated mech a drink.

Slickshaft took the drink, toasted his gracious host, then down the drink in three swallows.

"Tough day at work?" the golden mech asked. He had noticed the scratches and dings in the white armor before the buffing. Very little details ever escaped his notice.

"Vigorous," Slickshaft admitted with a salacious grin.

"Clean yourself up," the golden mech ordered, jerking his head toward a door.

Slickshaft poured himself another full glass and carried it into the adjoining room. He took another draught, and began his transformation sequence. The high, tapered pedes that gave him added height, receded and folded down on themselves, making his pedes look blocky instead of aesthetically lithe. He shrunk nearly a head shorter than his original height. His optics lightened from deep azure to a pale bluish-green.

There was a changing station in the corner, allowing him to remove his stylish white veneer plating and place it on racks to prevent damage. Piece by piece was removed and placed in a slot, all carefully arranged. He was even thinner when standing there in his bare protoform. He grabbed the extra set of plating and began to change, altering his features by putting on extra padding and the heavier dress of resilient armor plating. Had he been a naturally thin mech, his body wouldn't have been able to washstand the heavier, bulkier armor he dressed in. Latches snapped into place, fittings slid together, mechanisms locked, building the slight mech up into something a little more substantial and stockier. When he was done he stretched, hearing a few hisses and creaks, but nothing that didn't warrant going to the medics. Probably just joint strain from his recent activities.

The last piece to be extracted from his body was his helm. The smooth white helm piece was removed, exposing his cranial protoform beneath. He set it aside on the slot and picked up the heavier, thick armored helm that resembled a helmet and secured it into place.

Admiring himself in the mirror, he gave his reflection a nod of approval and exited to find the golden mech standing in front of the big bay widows that overlooked the city complex below.

"How do I look?"

"Like my brother again,' Sunstreaker replied with a smirk. "Have fun at work?

Sideswipe grinned, knowing his brother had experienced everything he had. That was the secret to his 'extended' success… his brother could broadcast and receive and both used their shared bond in the secret lives they shared. Sideswipe ran a merchant store during the daylight, but come twilight, he donned his alter ego and made his real fortune.

"Think anyone will ever figure it out?" Sunstreaker asked as he returned his gaze to the minute pedestrians below. Even the heavy duty mechs look diminutive from this height.

"So what if they do?" Sideswipe gave a half shrug "It's not like I'm breaking any laws."

"That's a first," Sunstreaker quipped.

"Can you believe Clipper worked on me and didn't even recognize me?" Sideswipe exclaimed.

"You didn't use your real account, did you?"

"I used the company account the pleasure house gives me as an allowance."

"Isn't Stunner's establishment a little too pricy for their budget?"

"I saw the ratings for tonight's show." Sideswipe's smirk was sadistic. "Highest rating ever. And I have two new corporations who want to sponsor the studio."

"As long as they don't put a decal on your aft," Sunstreaker smirked, toasting his brother with the remained of his drink. "Be a shame to cover that rear bumper with something so hideous as a decal."

Sideswipe smirked and wiggled his aft, earning his brother's laughter.

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Yes, "Stunner" was actually Knock Out from TF:Prime. I melded both ideas into one story, meeting Knock Out before the war, and one of the twins is a porn star. ;)


	102. Bust A Cap In Your Side

Bust A Cap In Your Side

AN: Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! Sorry I can't get to everyone's messages, but know I keep each of you in my thoughts.

Sunstreaker29: I wish you all the best and hope you nail your opponent like your namesake. Keep me posted!

Sorry if this scenario has been already done. I haven't read on the site in years, so I don't keep up with what's out there. Don't mean to rehash or repeat, but I don't think this has been done yet. At least by me. And that's what counts. :D

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"Prime!" Sunstreaker thundered, entering the office without knocking. "You have to do something about Prowl!"

Prime shuttered his optics several times, and checked his audios receptors. They were working properly.

"Prowl?" He asked, confused.

"Slagger has gone too far this time!" Sunstreaker barked, slamming his fist down on Prime's desk and denting the metal. It joined the other marks the raging Lamborghini had applied over the many years of dedicated service. Prime's desk was more or less a lump. Not from the crash, but from Sunstreaker's abuse. And Wheeljack's occasional terrorism. And Jazz had dented the surface a few times. And Grimlock. Ironhide. .. Slag, he didn't realize how much abuse his poor desk had suffered. How was it still functional? Sunstreaker's fuming face pulled him from his thoughts.

"What may I ask, has he done to deserve my intervention?"

"Slagger has gone to far!" Sunstreaker reiterated, steam nearly pouring from his helm vents. Sideswipe slouched into the room looking forlorn. Prime was vaguely reminded of a kicked turbo-puppy.

"Yes, that has been established," Prime said, refocusing his attention to the golden tornado. "Care to elaborate?"

"Now you sound like him" Sunstreaker said, voice losing vehemence and dropping low. It was more like a threatening growl now.

"Sunstreaker, to the point," Prime directed.

"It is one thing to incarcerate us, make us do menial tasks, go drone-brained staring at monitors, but this…. this….." Sunstreaker hissed. His hands came up in front of him, like he was strangling an imaginary Prowl.

Prime wondered what Prowl could have done that caused Sunstreaker such a violent reaction. Course, with Sunstreaker's history, a mech could sing the wrong lyrics and get his vocalizer ripped out.

"We perform the tasks given and accept our brig punishments,' Sunstreaker pleaded his case, having finished slaughtering his imaginary adversary and focusing his attention back on Prime. "But taking a mech's hubcaps is a step too far!"

Prime blinked again. Surely he misheard. Hubcaps certainly wouldn't warrant a death. Oh wait. This was _Sunstreaker._

"Hubcaps?" Prime repeated faintly.

Sunstreaker snarled obscenities that Prime didn't bother to object. Apparently it was devastating for the gold Lamborghini to be parted from his hubcaps. Prime vaguely wondered if they had anything to do with a specialize part or served some sort of specific function.

Then he remembered who was complaining.

"Does the lack of hubcaps cause you pain, or affect your job performance?" Prime asked, having a feeling to the real cause of the strife.

"Yes, I can't allow anyone to see me looking like this!" Sunstreaker spat. He took a couple steps back from Prime's desk to allow the Autobot leader to glimpse first his right then his left side. One hubcap was missing from each side.

"I'm asymmetrical!" Sunstreaker fumed, his hands grasping the desk and digging into the warped metal.

Prime looked to Sideswipe, who appeared bored. His brother's venting was plenty for the both of them. Without command he turned one way, then the other, showing that he too was missing opposite hubcaps.

"And what is this punishment for?" Prime asked.

"When Wheeljack was charging, I glued his hands to his interface panel," Sideswipe gave a shrug. He wasn't sorry for his actions. Judging by his demeanor, the punishment had not fit the crime. Nothing had been learned.

"And why were you added to the punishment detail?" Prime asked Sunstreaker.

"Proxy," Sunstreaker grunted.

"You repainted Wheeljack in lacy human things," Sideswipe amended, a grin threatening to split his face.

"Only because you promised to allow me some peace and quiet for a week," Sunstreaker muttered darkly. He knew who was the real Slag Eater in this situation. And he didn't sport doorwings. But, that was another death wish all together.

Prime nodded. He remembered the little repaint and glue incident. When Wheeljack asked why his interface panel, Sideswipe had crowed something about the inventor needing to protect his equipment from being blown up. The Autobots had laughed themselves silly, all except Ratchet, who had to use industrial solvent to get the inventor's hands free from his crotch plate. But Ratchet's mood was improved when he realized Wheeljack's experimenting would be on hiatus until the mesh on his hands healed and allowed him to physically touch his experiments again.

"I'll serve a sentence in the brig," Sunstreaker declared. "But messing with a mechs good looks is going too far. This is against protocol!"

"I believe Prowl knows what is within the bounds of protocol," Prime said, knowing Prowl was probably bending the regulations regularly when it came to the twins. "He would not enact a punishment if it were not properly sanctioned by our code of conduct."

"Disfiguring a mech is not within the code of conduct," Sunstreaker growled, crossing his arms over his chest and staring sullenly at his commander. "I didn't sign up to be maimed and mutilated by my own side."

"You are not maimed and mutilated, Sunstreaker," Prime sighed. "If you dislike the configuration, why do you not change it?"

"Because Prowl said if we try to augment our looks by any degree, he'll extend the punishment from two months to a year," Sideswipe put in. He rolled his optics and adopted his brother's pose of crossed arms. "Honestly, I don't know what all the fuss is about. It was just some innocent glue and paint. It's not like we gave the Cons access codes or something."

"I may," Sunstreaker threatened darkly. He was pissed enough to do just that. … and add the stipulation that the Cons had to rip Prowl a new aft seam for all the trouble he caused.

**'Prime?'** Prowl asked over comms. **'Are the twins filing a complaint against my most recent punishment detail?'**

**'Yes, Prowl, they are,'** Prime said, looking at the fuming golden mech. Sideswipe was nonchalant. He could care less if he was asymmetrical.

**'I assure you, sir, that my punishment detail breaks no codes of conduct, nor inflicts any physical damage,'** Prowl felt the need to explain.

**'I know.'** Prime said, knowing that Prowl omitted the part about emotional or psychological damage.

The few times the twins were assigned to Smokescreen for mental evaluation, the Praxian had not been greeted with enthusiasm… unless one counted the time he was glued to the his desk with his aft up in the air and a smiley face on his aft plates. Sideswipe directed bots to Smokescreen's office with promises of 'free tailpipe', but thankfully, everyone had rescued the blithering mech before any real damage could be done.

Sideswipe had spent a good portion in the brig for his antics. Sunstreaker usually covered for his twin or helped set up unknowing victims, so by default, he was thrown into the brig as well. Both never learned their lesson. Neither seemed to learn from their incarcerations. Prowl was running out of ideas for punishment. Though now, it appeared he had hit upon a good corrective measure for future pranking endeavors.

**'I haven't broken protocol,'** Prowl started, but Prime cut across.

**'This punishment seems to have the desired effect. Sunstreaker will think twice about assisting his brother in future pranks and eventually, he'll beat Sideswipe for even attempting them.'**

**'I had hoped it wouldn't degrade to acts of violence,'** Prowl admitted, frowning to himself.

**'This is the twins we're discussing,'** Prime reminded his SIC. **'Sometimes the only way they learn is through painful remuneration.'**

Prowl offered a low hum in agreement.

**'The punishment appears to have its desired affect,'** Prime stated, hoping to assure the junior officer. **'Might I suggest other forms of preclusion that pertains to their individual vanity?'**

**'Suggestions noted,'** Prowl said before signing off. **'Thank you, sir.'**

"I suggest the two of you attend your assigned duties, because Prowl is not violating protocols and has amassed quite the list of alterative punishments to ensure that both of you will think twice about disrupting your comrades," Prime said to the two Lambos. He felt guilty about his little white lie, but both frontliners had to know their behavior had consequences.

Sideswipe frowned, annoyed. It was hard to tell if it was his own feeling, or Sunstreaker's boiling vehemence that was leaking through.

Most forget that Sideswipe may calm his brother, but their sparkbond was like a door. It could swing both ways. Where Sideswipe could calm his twin and channel his aggression, Sunstreaker's rage could sometimes overpower his twin and fire Sideswipe up into a murderous frenzy.

"If you expect me to allow _anyone_ to see me looking like** this**!" Sunstreaker spat. "If I have to be disfigured, then I am off active duty! Period!"

"You are not disfigured, merely asymmetrical," Prime said, his voice becoming deeper, a clear indication he was going to be obeyed. He only allowed so much back talk before his stern hand came down. "You will attend your duties, and you will learn from this experience. Perhaps next time you wish to cause mischief, you can remember the humiliation you suffered and will think twice before suffering the fate once again. Now, both of your are dismissed."

Sunstreaker knew it was a hopeless battle. Vents heaving, fists curled, he whirled and stormed from Prime's office. Sideswipe gave the Autobot leader a dark glower.

"You mess with his looks, you stir up a hornet's nest."

"Perhaps if the true instigator for this punishment learned his lesson, then it would stop being necessary."

Properly chastised, Sideswipe took his exit.

Sunstreaker's mood was so caustic during the next week that after duty, he was confined to quarters, least he try to physically construct Superion by overwhelming and partially transforming the jets to piece them together. Sideswipe was seen a few times with cracked plates, a busted lip, squeaky joints, and several weld scans from ruptured plating and hoses his brother inflicted while confined to quarters.

The instigator was learning a painful lesson, taught to him not by his superiors, but by his twin.

The first month passed by without incident. Sunstreaker holed himself up in his studio, toiling over his art and physically attacking anyone who encroached on his domain. His duties were attended in surly disposition, his acerbic bite even more vicious when one wasn't expecting the venom sent their way. Many a bot had flinched from Sunstreaker's sharp tongue and hate filled optics.

Smokescreen mentioned that such seclusion wasn't healthy, but Prowl waved off his fellow Praxian's concerns.

Sunstreaker was just pouting. Hiding in his studio meant that no one could see his 'imperfection.' He was in no physical danger, except from his twin, who would goad

him into violence.

The two could be heard battling in their quarters at all hours of the day and night. Hours later, both crawled into medbay, where Ratchet knocked them both cold and repaired their frames. When they woke, they were immobilized for several days to ensure complete rehabilitation.

Ratchet was well aware of their reputation, and when they were in such moods, their wounds took much longer to heal. Both were not good at being idle.

The only upside to Sunstreaker's 'disfigurement' was he had finished numerous pieces and was able to secure a gallery showing in three additional cities. Portland and Seattle were the usual venues, people coming from all over the globe to view the robotic alien's work. Previously, no other state had offered to host Sunstreaker, but since his exhibits had become the newest sensation, other galleries wanted to cash in. Sunstreaker was just thrilled he would have enough pieces to accommodate. Thanks to his creative output, galleries in Los Angeles, Dallas, and New York were to play host to the golden artist.

By Sunstreaker's calculations, each gallery would receive twenty pieces, some of them so cumbersome, Sunstreaker himself would have to move them.

Much to Sunstreaker's surprise, he was contacted a few days after receiving the timelines from the curators by a company who monitored records. According to their data, Sunstreaker was the only artist to have so many individual galas. A monumental achievement, and worthy of recognition.

He was doubly thrilled when they insisted upon interviews at each gala, and pictures to commensurate the special occasions. Prowl would have to give him the time off to attend these exhibitions, seeing how they could be classified as 'human relations.' And Prime was always lecturing on interacting with the local natives. Though Sunstreaker loathed the human race, he looked forward to having his picture taken and the adulation directed toward his immaculate shine.

Being a gracious, and arrogant mech, Sunstreaker made sure the openings were a week apart, giving him time to travel and set up his exhibits. And to soak in the local admiration from the human populace. He may not like organics, but he wouldn't deny them the opportunity to see him at his finest.

His hubcaps were to be returned in time for him to properly buff and greet his adoring public with the poise and glamour of a supernova. Hollywood's best had nothing on Sunstreaker.

Much to Sunstreaker's elation, several reporters contacted the base, asking for interviews. Even the local paper was buzzing with enthusiasm, parading the fact that someone from their area was going to be inducted into the World Record.

Sunstreaker found it amusing that they automatically assumed he was one of their own, and didn't seem to notice his alien physique. The idea they counted him among them so freely, was both humbling and disgusting. Sunstreaker wasn't really sure which was dominant.

The day before the interview, Sunstreaker approached Prowl.

"Humans arrive tomorrow to interview me for the new world record I will be setting with my work," he said upon entering Prowl's office without knocking. Actually, the only Autobot who knocked on Prowl's door was Prime. Everyone else just barged right in. "I need my hubcaps back."

"Punishment detail is still in effect for another eleven days," Prowl said without looking up.

Sunstreaker paused in his visual search of the office for his sacred hubs, but they were no where to be seen. He turned in slow motion to glare at Prowl.

"What?"

"Your punishment is still in effect. And if you attempt to confiscate Sideswipe's hubcaps to balance your look, then you will be forced to wear one hubcap for a year." Prowl didn't bother looking up from his datapad. Since Sunstreaker was ashamed of being seen out in public, he and Sideswipe had remained on base and not racing on human roads. Since their punishment detail, the Autobots had not received a speeding ticket. Prowl enjoyed he reprieve.

"But... the interview!" Sunstreaker sputtered. Surely Prowl wouldn't want him looking so scruffy for such an important event?

"If they inquire as to why you have missing hubcaps, then I suggest you mention a battlefield injury." Prowl offered an exasperated look to his unwanted visitor. "I really don't care what excuse you employ."

Sunstreaker boiled with anger. Fists curled at his side he marched out of Prowls office, fighting back the urge to go back in and trounce the Praxian within an inch of his life. Teach the fragger a lesson. But his deviousness reared with a better course of action. That trait was courtesy of Sideswipe, and for once, Sunstreaker was glad he was in possession of it.

Into the night Sunstreaker polished and buffed, making himself as irresistible as possible. If he wanted to distract the humans from his imperfection, he better give them something better to focus on. So with meticulous attention to detail, Sunstreaker made his armor shine like his very namesake. When the humans arrived early in the morning, he strode out he meet them, arriving as the very fiery presence that illuminated their world.

There were a handful of reporters, a male representative from the world record committee and the gallery owners from all respective cities.

As soon as the humans saw Sunstreaker, they began to clap, cheering as he approached. He stepped out of the shadow of the Ark and as the sun fell upon his armor, the humans gasped in awe and admiration.

"So... so, beautiful!" One of the gallery owners whispered, taking in the golden form sauntering toward him.

Sunstreaker quirked his brow ridge in a cocky manner he learned from Sideswipe. He halted a few paces away and struck a pose, rocking to one hip and allowing the humans to admire him from many angles.

"Such design! Such… grandeur!" A man exclaimed, looking overjoyed at Sunstreaker's approach. "A true artist! Not only do you grace the world with your magnificent pieces, but you are the embodiment of perfection."

Sunstreaker liked this human. Until he continued to speak.

"And making such a statement with an asymmetrical look!"

Sunstreaker's optics narrowed. The unknowing man bounded happily toward his doom. "Hubcaps on either side! Balanced and yet, unbalanced."

Sunstreaker knew Red Alert's cameras were trained on the entrance to the Ark, so he couldn't step on the man with witnesses. Best to wait until they are alone and lacking all cameras. Then Sunstreaker could make it look accidental.

The human continued to prattle, nearing the object of his interest like some enchanting piece of art.

"Such a bold statement! It's so.. so..." His voice trailed off as he searched for the right word. Sunstreaker's optics darkened, ready to squash the human, cameras be slagged!

"Innovative!" the human cried happily, clapping his hands together.

"Innovative?" Sunstreaker asked, shocked out of his anger.

"It takes an exceptional artist to forge new ground, and to set the standard on what to expect," the man said, his eyes still gleaming as he sized up the much larger metal body. "And you have set the bar to the moon! Everyone will be scrambling to duplicate your genius, your work, and your bohemian style."

Sunstreaker's brow ridge arched in a sharp line.

"What made you chose such a bold statement?" one of the reporters asked.

"It wasn't my intention to set a new trend," Sunstreaker said, his expression betraying his words. "But I have a fellow Autobot who is infatuated with me. He worships the ground I walk on. Always wants to be close by. Offers to do everything for me. Follows me around like a lost puppy."

The reporters hastily scribbled this information down. Their pens made light scratching noises as they tried to keep up.

"If he is away from me, he becomes depressed and anxious," Sunstreaker offered a saddened look. "Such things are not healthy, so I give him one of my hubcaps to keep close by. That way, he'll always have a part of me nearby. To give him comfort and keep him happy."

The humans offered sympathetic looks. Such devotion and sacrifice. It was an endearing quality.

The rest of the interview went by in a breeze, Sunstreaker graciously allowing the humans to pose with him. It was late afternoon by the time everyone left. Sunstreaker returned to his studio and engrossed himself in his art, inspired by a new direction.

At first, no one noticed the difference. But by the end of the week, bots started to realize that the humans were preening themselves differently. Much to everyone's surprise, Blaster reported the news and fashion circuit were abuzz with asymmetrical designs. Humans were even cutting their hair crooked, making one side shorter than the other in various styles. Such things normally wouldn't have garnered a second thought from the robotic aliens, until it was also mentioned that the look was inspired by Sunstreaker.

Stunned, Sunstreaker could only blink, overwhelmed by the praise from Carly, who sported a lopsided bob, the right side shorter and swept back from her face. Everyone was giving Sunstreaker credit for the unorthodox, yet flattering design. Even his coming exhibit was gaining more notoriety, San Diego and Miami begging for Sunstreaker to grace them with a showing. Commercials were loaded with people wearing their uneven styles, some even taking to using forms of make up to accent certain features. Each time Sunstreaker saw something of his influence, he offered a cheeky, smug look to his comrades.

Life couldn't get any better.

The day before Sunstreaker was to leave with his art to set up and open the grand galas in each city, he stood in front of his mirror, gazing at his perfect body. Prowl had given the twins their hubcaps back the night before. Sunstreaker spent most of the twilight hours buffing and polishing himself to an indecent shine. No micron was left unbuffed. When he admired himself in the mirror, the light reflected off his armor in a celestial gold. He felt his own breathing function halt by the sheer magnificence he displayed.

Sideswipe offered a wolf whistle from where he was reclining on his own berth, a datapad held in his hand. Since his brother would be gone for a couple months with his art projects, Sideswipe was tasked with extra patrols. Which suited his fast engine just fine.

Sideswipe kept his attention on his pad, his engine humming with encouragement as he tapped away. Twice he offered a muffled snicker.

Sideswipe must have been projecting his devious thoughts, for Sunstreaker stomped across the room, his face pinched into a tight scowl, before he drew back his fist and planted it in his brother's face. Sideswipe was knocked cold before he could offer resistance. Sunstreaker huffed through his vents and exited the room to run one last check before departure early the next morning. Before leaving, he made sure to remove a hubcap from each side, and placed them on his berth. He did have a reputation to uphold, and who was he to argue with his adoring fans? As he headed to the transport vans, he sent a message to Prowl, warning him that Sideswipe would be up to no good in his absence.

Sunstreaker hoped the fragger was caught and suitably punished. Preferably in a slow, violent manner that would make him think twice about creating such friendly mayhem.

But Sunstreaker seriously doubted his brother would ever learn.

Maybe he should run him over to teach him a lesson?

Course, he would have to leave tire tracks only on one side.


	103. Sun of A Higher Grade

Sun of a Higher Grade

AN: Special note at the end. Please read and if so inclined, pass on to your own friends and lists.

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"I don't like this," Prowl said. His voice was unusually curt and insubordinate.

"It will be good for morale."

"Isn't that what Jazz and Blaster are for?" Prowl asked, scowling at the proposal on the datapad.

Prime offered a half shrug. A quirk he adopted from humans. "Music and drinking only go so far."

"But this gives them a reason TO drink and play loud obnoxious music." Prowl always saw the dark side of the storm clouds. The silver lining was battleship grey.

"Come on, Prowl, everyone needs a chance to unwind," Prime said, hiding the smirk that his second had yet to resort to a formal attitude. Now it was like two mechs, meeting anyone on Cybertron and arranging a time and place for a communal get together.

"But… accommodations?" Prowl looked up to his superior, his normally passive expression now blown with the incredulous look. "It's their jobs. There shouldn't have to be congratulations for doing their jobs."

"You forget how much of their job entails them getting maimed, shot, burned, and possibly terminated. And they do this willingly, without complaint."

"They complain all the time." Prowl amended, his face still sullen.

"About monitor duty and patrol, but never battle. How many times have they saved your aft, Prowl?" Prime asked.

Prowl started, having rarely heard his leader use any crude language. Prime was once a dock worker so he had an extensive vocabulary at his disposal, but since he took the Matrix, he never resorted to such language unless he was pushed to his limits or wanting to make a point.

"I... am unsure," Prowl admitted, his battle computer running the many times he had been saved by the twins. Some of his calculations were higher than others, but then again, he also factored in the circumstances of each 'rescue' and the damage incurred by the twins' own friendly fire. "Are you sure it's wise allowing such uncontrollable unknown anomalies to be acknowledge for their disregard to orders and the inevitable high grade that will flow for the after party?"

"So? Let it flow," Prime said.

Prowl scowled in dislike, clearly not buying in to the idea of allowing everyone to indulge until they were strategically at a disadvantage.

"Megatron was defeated two days ago but escaped with enough energon to keep his soldiers fed for at least two weeks."

Prowl's scowl became deeper, his optics boring into the gentle blue of his mentor. "You allowed them to escape with the fuel?"

"They do not possess the resources that we do, Prowl. Though I do not agree with the Decepticon cause, I can not, in good faith, allow them to starve simply because their leader is too stubborn to call a truce or allow a gift of an energon converter."

Prowl frowned, remembering Prime having Wheeljack to make a portable generator unit and sending it to the shore for the Decepticons. Every time they had captured hostages, Ratchet reported obvious signs of starvation, prompting Prime to take action. The cons were his enemies, but they were still his people. He was obligated to help them, even if they did try to kill him. Some of the cons had looked elated to receive such a thing but Megatron, ever the tyrant and wanting to keep his soldiers subjugated to him, blew the device up. As the cons retreated from the temporary ceasefire, Prime had pleaded with a loud voice to accept the fuel dispensers so no one would have to go without fuel.

Some of the cons had looked interested in the prospect of having a steady fuel supply. Prime didn't want to raise any hopes, but he thought he saw something flicker across Soundwave's visage, though it was had to tell. He was just as passive as Prowl. Both could engage in hand to hand combat and neither would even grimace or grunt.

"Come on, Prowl. Even you have to unwind sometimes."

"I fail to see how that reflects my ability to perform my job."

"Prowl, you're wound so tight right now, you're making MY gears hurt." Prime confided. "If I have to make it an order I will. But you are to attend this party after the ceremony and you will enjoy yourself."

"Only if there are datapads involved." Prowl grumbled not liking the idea of being forced to socialize in activities.

Prime motioned to the datapad in Prowl's grip. "I wish to have the ceremony set for tomorrow evening, if possible, with the party to follow."

"That the twins will no doubt host and give them a chance to flaunt their flagrant high grade."

"Relax," Prime said. "I've sanctioned the still, so you don't need to continue twisting your circuits looking for it."

"Oh, I've known its location all along," Prowl said, smug look highlighting his features and causing Prime to take pause. "But it's like you said, it's good for morale and as long as the two don't drink while on duty, then they may continue to brew in secrecy."

"How long have you known?" Prime wondered.

"Since they joined up," Prowl said. "They think they're clever, but I have been performing my job a lot longer then they have been functioning." He gave Prime a skeptical glare. "You honestly believe that with my training and investigative skills, I couldn't track down one illegal high grade still?"

Prime was left speechless.

"I shall rearrange the duty schedule to ensure everyone may be included in the...," Prowl paused, looking like he was struggling to form the word. "Festivities."

"Very well." Prime gave a nod and took his leave, calling over his shoulder. "And so you don't try to get out of attending, you are hereby ordered to attend."

Prowl allowed his doorwings to droop in defeat. He offered a muffled noise through his vents and whirled, marching to his office. He had a lot of shuffling of the schedules to make sure everyone could be included in what he considered a frivolous waste of time and resources.

Since he was ordered to 'socialize,' Prowl locked himself up in his office, enjoying the peace and quiet that would elude him tomorrow. He preferred the solitude, but since Prime had ordered his attendance, Prowl would have to endure the noise and stupidity of his overcharged comrades. It would take several days of seclusion in his office to throw off the ill effects of socializing and the processor ache that came with obnoxiously loud music.

The next morning the Ark was in a state of excitement. The word had leaked out that Prime was going to allow unlimited high grade and the twins had been brewing all morning to ensure a steady supply. There was also a rumor that they were breaking out some of the good stuff that had been in storage for some time.

Red Alert was spazzing out and by noon, had to be escorted to the medical wing. Two hours later, he was released, hanging off of Inferno's arm as the fire truck steered his friend toward the rec room to oversee the decorating for the evening ceremony.

Come sundown, everyone started to filter into the rec room. The dividing partition was pushed back, allowing the room to be used to its fullest and accommodate all of the Autobot forces. There was a long table on the upper platform that allowed view of the assemblage. A lectern was placed in the middle of the table, the Autobot sigil gleaming silver. A single chair flanked each side of the podium. Jazz and Blaster were doing the finishing touches on the sound system, checking the podium for Prime's speech, and more importantly, the DJ station where the two were to take turns spinning.

Prowl diligently checked over the Ark's systems, making sure the automated defenses were in top operation. He delayed his arrival, hoping to miss the majority of the festivities so he wouldn't have to endure the loud music and overly charged comrades who repeated the same war stories and resorted to crude jokes and languages. Prowl didn't appreciate the vulgarity when he first heard them, and time had not endeared him since.

He thought he was alone. Until a voice made him start.

"Prowl?" Prime wasn't surprised the Praxian was still on the bridge. He knew the ship was going on automated systems and Prowl had already checked the same consol twice. He was procrastinating.

"Going over final shut down sequences and double checking the systems before the party," Prowl said, checking the security feed for a third time.

Prowl hissed when he felt a sharp pinch to his left doorwing. He rose on his pedes, hoping to ease the upward pull Prime now had on the sensitive appendage. Prime removed the datapad from Prowl's grip and placed it on the consol while maintaining his hold on the flighty Praxian

"The Ark is secured. Get your aft to the rec room. Party starts in two minutes."

Prowl grumbled, glaring sullenly at the datapad as he was marched out of the room by his doorwing, Prime holding it slightly aloft to force Prowl to nearly tiptoe in the wake of his leader. They entered the rec room together, Prime releasing his captor to take his place at the main table. Prowl flicked his doorwings, scowling after Prime as he walked up to the podium to address his troops. Jazz clapped Prowl on the back, nearly sending the Praxian to the ground. Prowl shrugged out of his friend's grip and glanced around the room. Everyone was present, including Red Alert, who was rubbing his helm. All the tables were polished and arranged around the room to face the main table on the dais. The sound system was already set up to the far left, Blaster standing smugly by a speaker, his arms crossed over his chest. Apparently he had won a bet against Jazz and would be starting off the music portion of their evening. The chairs flanking the podium were occupied by Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, both displaying polar opposite emotions.

Sideswipe looked ecstatic, Sunstreaker murderous.

Prime stood at the podium and raised his hand for silence. The low murmur of voices died down, all optics on the Matrix Bearer.

"Autobots, we gather here to recognize the contributions of two of our own," Prime began, "A recognition that is long overdue. For millennia we have been under the constant protection of two who have laid down their lives for ours, sometimes enduring grievous injury and teetering on the brink of termination."

Sideswipe's grin broadened, threatening to split his face. Sunstreaker rolled his optics, tightening his crossed arms and sinking a little lower in his seat.

"I think it only fitting that we honor those two here tonight, by celebrating their triumphs, thanking them for their selfless sacrifices, for going above and beyond in the call of duty, and to show our appreciation for the dangerous task they undertake. Let us lift our voices, and our glasses, and honor Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, for all they do and continue to do without complaint."

"We complain all the time," Sunstreaker muttered. He thought this whole thing was a bad idea. He didn't even like most of his fellow Autobots, let alone want to be in the same room with them, accepting their praises and enduring their stupidity when inebriated.

Prime held up his hand in a symbol of honor and respect amongst the warrior class. Everyone else followed suit. When they started clapping and cheering for the two, Prime stepped back and gestured to the podium, expecting the two guests of honor to give speeches.

Sideswipe bounced out of his chair, soaking in the adulation, bowing and grinning to the cheering crowd. He flooded the bond with excitement and happiness, basking in the attention like a Hollywood star.

Sunstreaker reluctantly rose, standing in his brother's shadow, scowling at the amassed Autobots. His first thought was the best possible way to take out as many bots as possible in one or two strategically placed strikes.

"Thank you, thank you all," Sideswipe said, waving to his audience to get their silence. "We appreciate the fact that you ingrates recognize our sacrifice."

Sideswipe's optics lingered on a couple of bots in particular, earning rolled optics and a rude gesture. The action earned a round of laughter from the ruby Lamborghini.

"We'd lay down our sparks for every one of you, and though we may not get along all the time," Sideswipe's gaze drifted to a couple of minibots, "But we're on the same side. Fighting to survive and wipe the Cons out of existence."

Several hoots of agreement went out through the crowd.

"Thank you for finally realizing how invaluable we are," Sideswipe crowed, earning snorts and snickers, "And that you rivetheads would be lost without us. You adore us, knowing that if something happened to us, not only would you not have skilled bots to watch your back, but you wouldn't have anything so gorgeous to gaze upon and try to emulate."

Prime rolled his optics to the ceiling behind Sideswipe's back. Snickers broke out again, sounding like a tube with a leak.

"We will continue to fight and watch your chassis," Sideswipe continued, "Keeping you alive and giving you something to strive for." He paused for a moment, looking between the assembled bots his gaze landing on Prowl, who looked bored with the whole proceedings. Sideswipe waggled his brow plating, lifting his voice though the room was fairly quiet. "And I'm not wearing _anything_ under this armor!"

Laughter broke out as a crashing wave. Sideswipe grasped the edge of his armor plating along his arm and pretended to lift it to give his audience a peek. Sunstreaker shoved his brother aside to address the bots. His scowl was once again etched into his face.

"Stop making yourselves targets. I'm tired of taking hits meant to terminate you."

The bots sobered immediately as Sunstreaker growled at them before whirling and marching off the dais. Prime sighed, watching the golden mech stalk toward the vast assortment of distilled high grade. Knowing the speeches were over, Prime waved to the drinks.

"Enjoy yourselves," Prime called.

The bots hooted and swarmed the drink table, awing at the assorted colors the twins had brewed. There were shades of lavender that were more suited to a minibot frame. Acid green that could knock a seeker on his wings. Rose and periwinkle, peach and sunshine yellow, and shades in between. The twins had most certainly outdone themselves.

Blaster started the music, turning his haughty expression to Jazz, who ignored the tape deck to call Sideswipe out on a dance-off. Sideswipe graciously accepted, downing a cube of iridescent blue and sauntered to the middle of the dance floor. Jazz thought he had the contest in the bag, until Sideswipe started to dance. And subsequently mop the floor with the Porsche. Jazz danced for all he was worth, taking nearly an hour to finally admit defeat and congratulate his comrade on a dance-off well fought. Linking arms, they exited the dance floor, every intent on taking their battle to the liquid arena.

Sunstreaker was secluded in a corner, nursing a concentration of high grade that would have put Prime under the table with half a dose.

Prime was laughing and drinking with his subordinates, all stature and nobility gone as he became increasingly inebriated. It because clear he used to be a dock worker after a couple of cubes of high grade. The specialty brew he chose for this occasion made the regular grade appear watered down.

As expected, the party hit astronomical levels.

Wheeljack was sitting in a corner talking to a shop vac. Tracks was dancing on a table top, much to the chagrin of the mechs sitting there. Brawn was challenging everyone to an arm wrestling competition and wiping the floor with most of the crew. Ironhide was singing an ancient song of love and loss, Ratchet and Hound providing toneless back up.

Prowl had remained where Prime left him upon arrival. Each time he tried to sneak out, his efforts were thwarted by Prime. Hoping to assuage Prime's order of enjoying himself, and getting away from this party as quickly as possible, Prowl marched up to the drinks table. Not one to indulge in the swill the twins normally brewed, he glanced over the rainbow of colors, trying to find something that wouldn't sour his pallet. A mint green glittered, drawing his attention. It was the same hue as a grade he used to enjoy in the Crystal City, before the war. It was also his favorite color.

Prowl turned to find Prime staring at him from across the room. Though Prime's optics were overly bright in charge, he was still watching with expectation. Prowl huffed and hoisted the crystal container in mock salute, resigned to his fate. He was used to cubes like everyone else, but since this was a ceremony, Jazz said they need 'the good china.' Where he found such expensive drinking crystals was anyone's guess. He was a mech of many resources. And mysteries.

Prowl only meant to take a small sample of the glowing liquid, enough to appease Prime's watchful gaze, but as soon as the chilled fluid touched his lips, he took a larger drink than intended. When the sweet nectar crossed his analyzers, a pleased noise escaped. He looked at the glass curiously, his battle computer engaging for some strange reason. He frowned, trying to figure out why it engaged, when the answer struck him.

This was the exact blend for his favorite drink from the Crystal City. It was brewed by the finest Praxian masters of the Age. Prowl knew the twins had no Praxian lineage, and the war had broken out and destroyed the only brewery that supplied this particular blend. Neither ever mentioned visiting Praxus, let alone, learning the brewing secrets of the scant artisans of the trade.

Prowl downed the crystal in two gulps and when the soft buzz singed along his circuits, he offered a pleased hum. It has been a very long time since he had such exquisite high grade, though this variety was of the softer, more palatable variety. It was the brew of high society Praxians, and the more refined Primes of old.

Definitely not the usual Kaon swill the twins notoriously brewed.

Prowl picked up another cube, sipping its contents and savoring the flavor that reminded him of home from so long ago. He felt his systems throttle to an even keel, a pleasant sensation coming over his senses like being wrapped in a warm, welcoming, protective blanket.

A shimmer of gold caught his attention.

Sunstreaker strode up to the table a few paces from Prowl. He was tossing a couple glasses of high grade into a large bowl, mixing the contents and scooping out some in a glass and sampling the mixture.

Prowl snickered softly. The first time Spike had mentioned a 'punch bowl,' Sunstreaker had punched out Gears.

Against his better judgment, Prowl strode up to Sunstreaker, his doorwings bobbing gently with his steps as he approached the golden mech who was refreshing the diminishing drinks.

"Sunstreaker?" Prowl said upon his approach. He knew to alert the war weary Pit fighter before getting too close. "I must ask, where did you get this Praxian blend?"

"We made it," Sunstreaker said without looking at the SIC.

"Impossible," Prowl scoffed. "This is a rare vintage from the Golden Age. I know my Praxian blends. So tell me, where have you been storing this?"

Sunstreaker finished mixing the last set of drinks and turned to regard one of his rivals. And nearly burst out laughing. Prowl's doorwings were quirked loosely on his back.

"Not stored," Sunstreaker said, unable to hide a smile at Prowl's overly bright optics. Oh, the mech couldn't hold his liquor if he tried. "We brewed it here, over the past few days."

Sunstreaker wasn't sure why, but he felt a certain amount of pride at making something the stoic SIC and self proclaimed coinsurer, couldn't tell the difference between blends.

"I know my grades." Prowl narrowed his bright optics at Sunstreaker. "By region, brewery and era. This was definitely middle Golden Age from the brewery in the northern district."

"Upper east, actually," Sunstreaker corrected, grinning at the confused look on Prowl's face. It wasn't often the Praxian was flummoxed. "It took a while to find the right kind of cobalt and magnesium to make that blend."

"How?" Prowl asked, looking into the shimmering mint green that greeted him like a long lost friend. "How do you know secret recipe to Praxus's most infamous grade?"

"Because _we_ invented it," Sunstreaker informed his overly charged commanding officer. "The Praxian brewers were insightful, but it was Sideswipe and I who created and marketed the brands."

"You?" Prowl asked in a hushed tone, his brow furrowing as he tried to compute the information. His battle computer was running in spurts. "You owned...?"

"The majority of the breweries in Praxus? Yes," Sunstreaker confirmed. He grabbed a crystal full of shimmering blue liquid and motioned for Prowl to join him at a table in the corner.

Prowl fell into step, following the golden mech to the table. Both had to dodge some of their dancing comrades, who were arguing over the correct way to perform a fox trot. Hound was petting a traumatized fox and trying to make a staggering exit with his animal friend.

Prowl flopped down into a chair, his doorwings hiking straight up like a terrified cat, before falling lax down his back. He appeared exhausted and deflated, save for the wild look in his vibrant blue optics. He took another drink, his optics whitening a little further, though Sunstreaker was the only one who noticed.

Sunstreaker smirked behind his glass before taking a drink. It was smooth, going down with ease and tingling his analyzers. Sideswipe certainly outdid himself with this particular blend.

Prowl hummed as the charge filtered through his systems. "My creators used to drink this all the time." His face scrunched up in disgust and nostalgia. "Every time they hosted a gala, they would order cases of the stuff. I hated the parties, but the grade was delicious. It was the only thing I looked forward to during the annual social events."

Sunstreaker paused mid-drink. The only ones who attended galas and such social events were famous people, politicians, and Tower Brats. Prowl never spoke of his creators, so Sunstreaker assumed they were ordinary, run of the factory, stuffy bots like Prowl. There was no hint of his creators being influential, as in having political alliances. And Prowl never displayed the sophisticated air of a brat of the towers. So that must mean his creators were famous.

Sunstreaker tried to factor in everything he knew about Prowl, trying to gauge what area of public adoration his creators could have fallen under. They weren't under the artistic pavilions, because Sunstreaker would have met them, and a young Prowl.

He paused, staring at Prowl's bright, shining optics and tried to imagine the mech before him as a youngling.

Relaxed, carefree….. happy…. full of expression. A young Prowl. Wouldn't that have been interesting?

Sunstreaker wasn't sure what possessed him, but before he realized what was happening, he was speaking.

"If you like, we can brew you the Praxus blend on a regular basis?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sunstreaker wanted to kick himself. This was PROWL. No way he'd agree to something so... reckless.

"That would be greatly appreciated," Prowl said, downing the rest of the glass and slamming it down on the table with more force than he intended. "It has been so long since I have enjoyed the finest grade from my lost city. I have not realized how much I missed it until now."

Sunstreaker felt a stab of surprise and melancholy. He opened his mouth to speak but Prowl emitted an electronic snort and faceplanted on the table, his doorwings wiggling high for a second before flattening like a dragonfly at rest.

Sideswipe saddled over, his face alight with happiness as he took in Prowl's prone form.

"Get him overcharged, bro?" he asked, sniffing the glass in Prowl's lax hand. He drew back, that scheming look gracing his face as he took in the unconscious form of the Praxian.

Sunstreaker stood, downing the rest of his glass and shoving Sideswipe away from his prey. "He charged himself and wanted to know if we could brew him some of the Praxian grade on a regular basis."

"He did?" Sideswipe drew up, forgetting his ill intent and flooding his bond with happiness.

Sunstreaker grunted, rubbing his chest plates and scowling. "Stop that."

"So, Stick-Up-the-Aft likes Praxian grade, huh?" Sideswipe mused, looking down upon his unconscious commanding officer with a smug expression.

"I think it would be wise to brew what he likes, so he doesn't find our still and dismantle it for parts."

"He'll never find it."

"Not the decoy ones," Sunstreaker chided. "The _real_ one that we use."

Sideswipe paused, thinking over his brother's words. It wouldn't be good if Prowl found out where they secretly brewed their stock. They knew he was aware of the two dummy stills, and that he was unaware of the third, and true distillery.

"Jazz is calling you out again," Sunstreaker said, pointing to the Porsche who had given up his DJing position to attempt to win back his title as best dancer.

Sideswipe smirked, knowing the Special Ops mech was hoping he'd be too charged to give him competition. Oh, Sideswipe was going to show him! He sauntered up to the shorter mech and like two hissing tom cats in an alley, they started their challenge.

Sunstreaker smirked, glad Jazz provided a distraction. He didn't like the dark feeling his brother was feeling toward the unconscious Prowl. He was planning something disastrous and potentially devastating. Sunstreaker was hoping to distract him so he could drag Prowl off to relative safety.

Sighing in resignation of the inevitable scratches, Sunstreaker scooped Prowl up, looping his arm around his neck and dragging the blocky mech toward the door. He didn't want to leave Prowl at the mercy of his twin. And once Sideswipe wiped the floor with a certain Porsche, he'd be looking for his favorite target.

No one noticed Sunstreaker half dragging, half carrying Prowl out the door and down the hall toward Prowl's quarters. Prowl's door opened in recognition, allowing Sunstreaker to carry the mech inside and drop him on his berth. Prowl landed face down, his doorwings bouncing a little with the impact. Sunstreaker grunted, shoving Prowl's heavier weight until it was centered on his berth, ensuring his doorwings were out of danger.

"Heavy aft fragger," Sunstreaker muttered, cycling air through his vents. "How can you be so heavy and step so light?"

Prowl offered a snore in answer.

Sunstreaker sighed and left Prowl to sleep off his charge, closing the door behind him and hitting the locking mechanism to keep out a ruby colored pest.

The next morning, Prowl was back to his usual, stick up the aft self. He lectured bots on attending their duties while hung over, though he himself was seen grasping his helm twice.

Sideswipe was back to being his obnoxious self, goading the Praxian into a shouting match that culminated with Sideswipe locked in a cell and singing a song that wasn't appropriate for any age. Prime was later heard humming the same tune.

Sunstreaker collected the materials he needed and set to work, brewing the minty Praxian blend. Usually, Sideswipe was the one who did the majority of the brewing, but Sunstreaker was equally as talented. It was the wait and subsequent idling that drove him crazy. Oddly enough, this time, he didn't mind the slow passage of time.

The next day, Sunstreaker poured small measures of mint green liquid in smaller cubes and placed them in his subspace. He knew Prowl wouldn't accept them during the day, keeping his professional distance until late into the evening. When Prowl left his office in the evening, Sunstreaker was waiting outside.

"What now?" Prowl asked, figuring the golden mech was going to argue the case for his brother's release.

Sunstreaker opened his subspace and removed the several cubes of Praxian grade. "Just wanted to give you these."

Prowl's brow furrowed, his hands remaining at his side. "What are they?"

"The Praxian blend you like so well," Sunstreaker said, stepping forward and holding the cubes closer to Prowl. "I brewed a fresh batch for you but placed them in smaller cubes so you won't get so overcharged."

Prowl hesitantly took the cubes. Most said he lacked expression, but Sunstreaker could detect the warring of emotions in the monochromatic frame.

"I kept the same formula as the other night, but since you obliviously don't handle the higher octanes, I suggest you dilute it." Sunstreaker turned to walk away when Prowl's voice stopped him.

"Sunstreaker?"

Sunstreaker paused, looking over his shoulder.

"Thank you." Prowl said sincerely, placing the cubes in his subspace. "For everything."

Sunstreaker knew those simple words were loaded with much more meaning. He offered a dip of his helm and walked away, unknowing he had just forged a new friendship.

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Special request: Dear readers, it has come to my attention that there has been a vast exodus from this site due to the multiplication of trolls and the ever changing, limiting Terms of Service that is now being forced down the author's throats. I would ask that each and every one of you, whether you write or only read, send a message to the moderators that you find their restrictions (and their lack of concern over trolling and other things that plague your reading/writing stories) to be not only be irresponsible, but flagrantly disrespectful to readers and writers who originally signed on with the hope they could 'Unleash their imagination.' Now, we are victimized and punished, thanks to their unethical treatment to their serious writers.

They probably have already noticed a severe decrease in traffic, as more and more leave this site for venues who encourage and protect their writers, like what they USED to do. Subsequently, decent, thoughtful, engrossing stories that depict TRUE human nature, (not some sort of Disney fluff that chokes our imaginations and sours our pens) has become scarce and those who write such genre, are persecuted, to the point of having their work, and their ID's erased.

If they truly want to return to their previous success, then please, contact them and let them know your plight. Tell them of the good authors who used to post, but have moved to other locations, where their work is not censored, nor illegally removed. Tell them you find it disheartening that the boards are now filled with rehashed, hollow, sugary 'fairytales,' and you want to enjoy clever, thorough, thought engaging, more mature stories.

Let them know your age, your sign up time, and demand that they stop the persecution of decent writing to cater to simple minded, uneducated, sheltered, children. Perhaps even mention that they could have a separate link, like with their original fiction?

Maybe if enough of us stand up, we can once again, enjoy the site and discover new, and talented writers.

Thank you all.


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